“Because … it’s … funny,” he says in the same careful voice. He smiles again, and this time it is wicked. “I don’t think of you like my mother at all.” His voice is just as wicked as his smile. A mouth that just drank pig’s blood shouldn’t look as sexy as it does.
Marcia still stands frozen. “I’m going to get very old … very quickly … in the grand scheme of things.” Don’t kiss him, she tells herself, think of the pig’s blood, think of the pig’s blood …
Dare stands up, and he’s very close, too close. He clutches her hand to his chest. “First off … just as vampires look, I am told, ‘too beautiful’ to human eyes, humans look the same to us. But … moreover, if you are my wife, my host, you won’t grow old. You might even look younger …”
She looks up and finds him gazing down at her hand.
“That’s the symbiotic benefit we’re not supposed to talk about.” Not looking up, he adds, “And you won’t get cancer again.”
She can see where they might want to keep that quiet. Vampires could wind up hunted to extinction … or something. But then Marcia takes a sharp breath. “I never told you I had cancer.”
“No,” he says. “But I guessed when I realized you could see our fangs.” He shrugs, eyes still downcast. “We have an innate glamour that hides them. Humans who are very close to death … they can see them … and humans in other, emotional, non-death situations.”
“You healed me …”
His eyes meet hers, and he looks very old again. “No, I will never say that I did. Please … don’t even think of it. There is no compulsion to take up my offer, Marcia.”
Marcia looks down at her hand, and laughs softly. “Usually, on Earth, an offer coming from my boss would be considered compulsion.”
She feels his hand loosen, looks up, and sees a pained expression on his face, as though she’s struck him. “That was the most undiplomatic observation of all time,” she says, pulling his hand to her lips and closing her eyes to kiss it.
A coil of hair has fallen in front of her eyes, and he brushes it back. “Does this mean you’ll …?”
“I’m saying I’ll consider it.” She swallows. “But … you should have dinner with my family. You might change your mind.”
When she looks up at him, his lips are parted. For the first time since she was ill, she can see his fangs. He doesn’t have to explain to her that it has nothing to do with death this time.
He’s not the perfect vision of a prince in a fairy tale, but then she’s not a princess either.
Marcia doesn’t have Dare over for dinner that night. Instead, she broaches the subject with her family first.
“You’re so old,” says Cindy. “But I guess you’re both evil and made for each other.” She gets up from the table, goes to her room, and slams the door.
Alicia says, “Mom, you don’t have to do this for us.”
Joshua, looking at his book, says, “Go for it, Mom. I’ve been telling everyone at school you’ve been dating him for months.”
“What?” says Marcia.
He waves a hand. “Why do you think all the bullies at school leave me alone now?”
Turning back to Alicia, Marcia says, “I am doing it for myself, too. I like him.”
Alicia shrugs. “If you’re happy.”
Marcia looks after Cindy. “Would it help her if I tell her he likes me because I’m old?” And then realizes she’s said the thought out loud.
“It might give her hope, Mom.” Alicia says. “Joshua’s got fashion. I’ve got good grades … she just thinks she’s only pretty.”
Marcia notices she’s not slouching at all.
Cindy hugs Marcia. Maybe grudgingly, maybe shyly, Marcia can’t tell. “You look beautiful,” she says. “Joshua outdid himself on the dress.” The wedding dress, made by Joshua of elven silk that appears to be shimmering water, is beautiful.
Marcia pulls away. “You look beautiful, too,” she whispers in her ear. “But you’re more than that. You’ll figure it out.” Cindy nods, and the moment is uncomfortable. Marcia doesn’t believe there will ever be a magical moment when it all comes together, but bit-by-bit, maybe someday.
Cindy stands in front of Dare. “You look old.”
“He does not look old, he looks older,” Marcia says. He’s given himself some gray hairs, laugh lines, and crow’s feet.
Dare shrugs. “Magic? Is there anything it can’t do?”
Marcia hadn’t asked him to change his appearance. He had done it himself, saying he was worried about the kids “not respecting him as an authority figure.” It’s an illusion, and if Dare doesn’t maintain it, it will fade. Judging by the way Cindy responds to it, it was a good idea.
Likewise, Dare hadn’t asked the first time he drank Marcia’s blood; she’d just bitten her lip and then kissed him. Judging by how easy it has become for him to maintain his illusion of age after she started giving him blood, it was a good idea.
Behind them, a carriage drawn by griffins comes to a stop.
“Don’t worry,” says Joshua, with his hand on Diamonds. “We’ll have fun with our dwarf cousins while you start your happily ever after.”
Diamonds snorts. “You won’t have too much fun.”
Dare huffs. “Happily ever after, not at all. I’m literally a pain in the neck, and your mother can be stubborn.”
Marcia elbows him, and he elbows her back.
Alicia, quiet the whole time, breaks into sobs at his words. Everyone in the party goes silent.
“Alicia?” Marcia says, going to her.
Her usually stoic, unemotional daughter throws her arms around her neck. “Thank you for giving me a real fairy tale. A fairy tale I can believe in.”
~Fin
Magic After Midnight takes place in my I Bring the Fire universe. If you want to read more in this world, Wolves, the first book in the series, is free at your favorite ebook retailer. Fans are already clamoring for an expanded novel with Marcia and Darerick. They might get their wish. Sign up for my mailing list for updates.
Find all C. Gockel’s books on AMAZON
Dance with the Devil - Donna Augustine
Chapter 1
“Again!” Mr. Bink screamed from the front of the studio. Anastasia avoided looking at him as she went through the motions, hoping she could blend with the rest of the dancers.
From the first moment Anastasia had joined the ballet company, Mr. Bink had criticized nearly everything about her. Her posture was bad, her legs too thick, the arch of her foot too flat, her bun too messy. Nothing went unseen or unremarked upon.
“Faster! Some of you are falling behind the beat!” Mr. Bink clapped his hands loudly. “Anastasia, sloppy, sloppy. And you think you can dance a solo?” Mr. Bink turned, but not before he let out a sound of utter disgust that was loud enough to surely be heard by everyone in the room, even with the piano playing.
Ana blinked rapidly, hoping to keep the tears back as she continued to move in rhythm with the rest of the dancers. She ignored the looks from her fellow dancers, which varied between disgust and pity. She knew after a year of being with the company, she should be past the point where Mr. Bink could make her cry. Clearly, she wasn’t.
“Enough!” Mr. Bink said, the piano player stopping as Bink’s hand slashed through the air. “I’m done looking at the group of you. We’re finished for the day. You better not perform like this tomorrow. I won’t be embarrassed in front of our guest.”
Ana’s eyes fluttered shut as she stood relieved. Looked like today would be an easier day. There’d be hell tomorrow, though, if they didn’t please Mr. Bink when Marcum Hills was there. He was the best-known choreographer in the northeast. Ana never pleased Mr. Bink, so things weren’t looking good for her, but that was tomorrow’s worry.
She made her way over toward the corner, and settled in beside her bag. She grabbed her towel off where it sat on her bag and wiped the sweat still pouring down her face. With her back partially shielding her from the room, sh
e tugged at the first pointe slipper as she tensed and waited for the pain. The nail on her big toe wiggled with the movement, and she sucked air in through her teeth as she finally got the slipper off. One down, she took a small pause before gathering up the fortitude to tackle the next one, which shouldn’t be quite as bad, as she tended to favor her right foot.
She would’ve heard Mr. Bink approaching if her senses hadn’t been muted by the pain of the second slipper gliding over damaged flesh. She smelled the strong cologne and quickly tugged the discarded towel up to her ankles, shielding her damaged feet from view. But it was too late and she knew it.
She turned slightly and looked over at Mr. Bink. His eyes were narrowed as he gazed at Ana, his mouth downturned. His shoe, one of the various shiny black leather ones he owned, pointed at her. This was it, what she’d been dreading since she’d joined the company.
“I’m sorry to inform you, but no matter how hard I try to improve this situation, it isn’t going to work out any longer.” Nothing about his words or the clipped voice he used to speak them spoke of remorse.
“Please, I’ll try harder. I’ll practice twice as hard as everyone else,” Ana said, not divulging that she already practiced every night after she left for the day.
Mr. Bink’s eyes made an obvious travel down toward her now covered feet, and the few gray strands left on his head swayed with the subtle shake of his head. There was a long, slow exhale before he continued. “I took you on as a favor to your aunt, but we both know you aren’t cut out for this.”
Maybe she should accept it. Give up and realize she’d never be a prima ballerina. She looked around at the dancers close enough to overhear, including Maria, the shining star of their company.
Maria’s form was always perfect, her arches high and hair always smooth. Maria was a reminder of everything Ana didn’t have. Maria was a born prima.
She saw Maria, and several of the others weren’t talking. Their ears were all turned in Ana’s direction, and by later tonight, the entire company would have heard some version of this discussion. The humiliation settled a little heavier; her spirit felt a little dingier and worn down.
But dreams didn’t die an easy death—not the real kind. She spoke, not caring that it would add to the tale of mortification. “Please, just let me finish this season out.”
Mr. Bink crossed his arms, and a single boney finger tapped against the silk sleeve of the other arm. “I’ll let you remain until the end of the season because your aunt is a fairly large donor to this company, but you won’t be performing. There’s a limit to what I can suffer through.” He leaned down, hunching over her. “And I wouldn’t go complaining to her, either. I know things about you.”
Her mouth opened but nothing came out as the pieces fit together. It had been him.
Mr. Bink smiled, and he looked like a rabid dog baring its teeth, before he turned. His heels hit the wooden floor and echoed through the room as he left.
Ana slumped where she sat, the other dancers whispering around her until the room fell silent and she was the only one left.
She knew someone had searched her locker the other day. They hadn’t made it a secret, but left her things bunched up and wrinkled, instead of the neat piles she always arranged. The pills she took to keep up her rigorous schedule had been gone.
It didn’t matter why she took them. If word got out, she’d be tossed out of the company. Mr. Bink had finally won.
Chapter 2
The devil walked down the dark avenue just as the clock in the center of town struck midnight. The streetlights reflected off his thick black hair and the sheen of his Italian suit as he approached her. She was sitting on a bench in the darkest corner, her head down as she stared at the cobblestones.
She’d been calling to him for years. She’d been ten the first time, after she’d lost a dance recital. He hadn’t come to her then. She hadn’t been desperate enough.
She was fourteen the next time she’d called. It had been right after she wasn’t selected for the first company she’d applied to. Again, he hadn’t been interested.
She’d called to him again tonight. He’d pondered his available amusements before deciding to come. It wasn’t as if there weren’t other options. Any day of the week, there were thousands of people trying to strike a deal with the devil. He was in high demand and always would be.
The thing most humans didn’t understand was that desperation had to age like a fine wine. If it were served too soon, it wouldn’t yield nearly the same full-bodied taste. But now she was ready. She was worth the trip.
He sat beside her, reclined against the bench, crossed his legs and rested his arm along the back. There was a second of pause before her body jerked. Her head shot up and she looked up at him, surprised someone had sat beside her and she hadn’t noticed their approach.
“I’ve heard you want to make a deal, Anastasia?”
She shifted away from him on the bench. But she didn’t get up. Oh yes, she was ready.
Her chest rose and fell noticeably as she took in his face and then his clothes. He knew how he appeared to her: an attractive man in his twenties, financially well off and confident. The exact type of man she’d met so many times at ballet fundraisers; the kind of man she always hoped to catch the eye of and had always failed.
“How do you know my name?” she asked.
She should have been more alarmed but he could see the appeal of his current form settle in to the rapid rate of her heart. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips—in direct conflict to the logical response to retreat that most humans would have.
“I know everyone’s name, but especially those who call me.” He reached into the pocket of his suit jacket and withdrew a cigar. It was rolled by Cubans, in a place much warmer than Cuba. He looked over a slight imperfection in the cigar. They were going to pay for that later.
“But I don’t know who you are,” she said.
“Of course you do.” He smiled before he placed the cigar in his mouth. With a flick of his hand, a flame appeared at the tip of his finger and he puffed gently.
“You’re… Are you…” Chewed nails went to her mouth as he took in her ratty appearance: drab hair, ashen skin, nothing overly remarkable.
He took the cigar from his mouth and watched her visible discomfort with the smoke. Cancer wasn’t going to be an issue for her soon. She’d have bigger problems if she struck a deal with him, which of course she was going to. She’d been calling to him for too long.
“Who else? You’ve been calling to me for a while,” he said, as he felt the strength of her life force. She wasn’t much to look at, but she was healthy and strong. Her soul would be worth the aggravation. With all the people in the world and so many of them willing to strike deals, he was much more selective than he used to be. But her soul would be worth it. Not a top-of-the-line recruit, but enough to bother with.
“Can you help me?” she asked. Those were the magic words. She knew who he was and still wanted his help. This would be a quick one. It was going to be almost as easy as pointing her in the right direction to go at a fork in the road.
He rolled his eyes before he answered, “I can do anything I want. I can make you the most famous dancer that’s ever lived.”
“What do you want in return?”
He hated this part. One drunken night and it’d been centuries of contracts ever since. At least it kept that pain in the ass who lived upstairs out of his business now. Before, it was constant squabbles.
He reached into his suit again, and this time pulled out a single sheet of vellum. With a snap of his fingers, a quill pen appeared in his other hand, and he gave both to her. “All I need from you is a signature at the bottom of this contract.”
She held up the vellum until it was illuminated by the streetlight, and squinted as she tried to decipher the Latin. He always wanted to laugh when they tried to figure out what was in it. He might have made a drunken agreement, but there were ways around everything.
> “So, what happens exactly?”
“I make all your dreams come true, and when you die, you’re mine.”
“And what does that mean exactly?”
“Does it matter?” He stood and held out his arm for her. She rose, placing her hand in the crook of his arm, and he began to walk with her. “I know the pain you feel every day, the inadequacy. The way they look at you and talk about you when you aren’t there.”
As they walked, people appeared as if walking out of the shadows, staring at her, whispering as they walked past. People who looked just like the dancers from the company.
“Imagine yourself on a stage right now,” he said, and suddenly they weren’t walking on cobblestones anymore but across the wood of a stage, lights shining at them as they moved toward the front. Suddenly, the lights dimmed and a crowd was roaring with cheers, getting to their feet and applauding her. The dark sweatpants and shirt she’d been wearing were now the costume of a prima ballerina. A man approached and handed her a bouquet of roses.
He let her absorb it all for a moment. He’d made it so real that she couldn’t help but be absorbed into the scene, feel the crowd’s energy flow over her.
“You’ll have a wonderful life. You’ll be the most beautiful dancer who ever pirouetted across the stage. Every man will want you. You’ll have the world at you fingertips.” He moved in closer and said softly, “They’ll love you.
“Don’t you want everything you’ve ever wished for to come true? And then once you’ve lived the most wonderful life you could imagine, you’ll spend some time with me.
“I’m not so bad. You shouldn’t listen to all the things they say about me. Listen to your gut. There’s a reason you’ve been calling me since you were a child. You know what you should do.”
She nodded, as she stared into the crowd, mesmerized.
And then they faded away, their cheers with them, and Ana and the devil were back to standing alone in the drizzly, dark evening.
Once Upon A Curse: 17 Dark Faerie Tales Page 11
