A Very Paranormal Holiday

by J. T. Bock

  Another wave. Bigger and longer. This time Kali’s arms wiggled as if made of stringy licorice.

  “Who’s watching?”

  “The Man, who do you think? Get out of here.” She shoved Kali away. “Now.”

  Still squatting, Kali teetered and landed on her butt. The room became a mass of wavy lines, and Kali closed her eyes against the dizzying display. Adrenaline kicked in. She reached deep into her reserves, just fumes, but she used what was available. Rising from her core, Kali’s power trickled up. First a drip then a full-blown surge that whipped her back and made her wonder if her other self was adding some of her energy too. The universe spit her out at such a velocity, Kali didn’t have time to focus on her safety circle or tether a line to a specific place in her world.

  In the time span of a breath, a cushion materialized under her, then she heard two women shouting and smelled turkey and mashed potatoes.

  Kali opened her eyes and found herself in the room where it all began.

  Chapter 6

  Kali gazed down at her Halston dress, unsoiled by multi-colored stains and dust. Her hands rested over the napkin on her lap. Tepid food remained partially eaten on her plate. Wine glass was half-full. Across the table, her mother and Mia Minx batted barbs like verbal tennis pros.

  Sean’s hands gripped the table’s edge. He shook his head then locked his eyes onto Kali’s. He remembered what had happened.

  The chandelier shook. Kali’s breath hitched. Then she realized the bedazzled dame next to her had thrown a buttered roll at Deandra and it hit the chandelier instead.

  A large male hand covered hers. She glanced at Max.

  He mouthed, “Was that real?”

  Oh, thank the multiverses.

  Kali stood and tugged on Max’s hand and led him from the cacophony. They rounded a corner to the hall. She glanced back to see Sean making his way after them, but he tripped over a holiday planter and landed into the ex-Olympian, who had run around the table to face Deandra in his determination to have his screen time.

  Kali led Max down a corridor to her mom’s study. A Dragonfly camera buzzed behind them. She bolted into the room and yanked Max inside with her, as the camera whirled toward the entrance. Kali slammed the door shut. The camera banged into it and thudded onto the floor. She locked the door. Max put in his hearing aids. She checked the room for cameras and found two, which she unplugged.

  “That really happened?” Max asked.

  “Uh-huh.” Kali tore off her wig and tossed her fake glasses onto the desk.

  “How did we end up here?”

  “It’s where everything started. Our timeline reset to before the quantum shit hit the fan. Do you remember anything after Stockwell took you?”

  “We ended up in this room full of early 1970s computer equipment. There were two other men waiting for us. I didn’t get a good look at their faces. They put a sack over my head and handcuffed me and led me down what I think was a hallway before shoving me into a pitch-black cell. Before too long, the blackness cleared, and I was sitting at the table next to you.”

  Kali took both his hands in hers. “I’m so relieved you remember.”

  “Me, too.” Max squeezed her fingers.

  Kali’s phone dinged announcing an incoming text. She fumbled in her purse. On the screen, Kali found two texts from Inferno, confirming they would meet at the bar for drinks later that night.

  “Looks like things are back to normal.” Kali waved the phone at Max.

  Abrupt, angry knocks rattled the door.

  “You turned off the cameras in there and almost broke a Dragonfly,” Krispian yelled. “Your contract states that we film you for the next two hours without interruptions. If you don’t come out, you’ll be in breach of contract.”

  “I’ll pay whatever you want, if you leave us alone,” Max shouted back.

  “Did you get that?” Krispian spoke to a person in the hallway. The knob turned, and the door shook as they tried to force it open.

  “Go around to the window,” the director ordered his crew.

  “Can you get us to my place?” Max jogged to the window and pulled the drapes shut.

  “Hold on.” Kali searched the desk drawers for her mom’s stash of goodies.

  Jackpot. A drawer full of candies and cakes. Deandra still had a sweet tooth. Kali unwrapped and bit into a chocolate Ding Dong cake.

  “This will give me a little juice,” she said.

  After swallowing a second cake, Kali grabbed Max’s hands. They popped out of Deandra’s study and into Max’s living room. Tapped out, Kali staggered against his chest. Max’s arm wrapped around her shoulder, and he led her to the couch.

  “That wasn’t as bad as the first time we jumped.” Max eased her onto the sofa.

  “You get used to it.” Kali rubbed her throbbing temples.

  “It’s a bachelor pad, so I don’t have much to eat.” He bounded into the kitchen.

  “As long as we don’t order pizza.”

  “My feelings precisely.”

  Max deposited cheese, crackers, and a bag of quinoa chips onto the coffee table and proceeded to open the packages and place the cheese slices on a wooden board.

  “Can you tell me how we ended up back here?”

  “I’ll do what I can.” Kali reached for a chunk of cheese. This spread was upscale compared to what her other bachelor friends would offer, stale Cheetos with a side of Velveeta.

  “I can’t go back anymore. They caught me. Someone was tracking me there. Maybe from my alt-jump’s energy waves, I’m not sure.” A heavy sadness stretched across Kali’s stomach. She slouched onto the low-back, boxy sofa.

  “I don’t follow. Who caught you?” Max handed her bottle of water.

  The other Kali’s gaunt, wet body flashed in her mind. She shivered, took a drink and changed the topic. “What do you do for Christmas? That is if you celebrate Christmas.”

  Max shrugged and didn’t appear put out that she avoided his question. “My parents are halfway around the world. I won’t have time to fly out to see them. Sometimes my sister or aunt will ask me over for dinner. But most years ...” He shrugged again.

  “I carry this with me.” Kali removed a picture from her clutch bag and handed it to him.

  Max sat next to her as he studied the photo. “Who are they?”

  “My father when he was a kid and my grandparents. They died within a few years of each other. My grandparents were in a car accident when I was in fifth grade. My father had a heart attack when I was in middle school.”

  “I’m sorry.” He handed the photo back to her.

  “Remember when I told you that I visited my family in the alternate universe?”

  “Yes.” Max bit into a chip.

  “Other UltraAgents assume I go back to the 1960s to party, which I did occasionally. I mean, if you have a chance to enjoy a free-loving, revolutionary time then go for it, right? But the main reason I went back was to spend time with my family in the alternate universe. My family’s history is basically the same there. Every Christmas for the past four years, I visited them in this hippie commune where my dad spent his childhood. No drama or faux fights. Just a group of people who welcomed and cared for me. They lived simple lives off the land without this theatrical bullshit. Now I can’t go back there. I can’t ever see them again.”

  “Why not?” Max laid his hand over hers.

  Tears welled up threatening to overrun the dam she struggled to keep plugged. Kali reached for a cracker to distract herself.

  “Because if I do, then I change the future for them in their universe and that man, Stockwell, will change ours.”

  Max’s thumb traced a circle over the back of her hand, encouraging her to go on.

  “Deandra’s my mom, and what you saw tonight used to be my holiday meal until they stopped asking me to the tapings. If I’m lucky, a friend will invite me for Thanksgiving, but Christmas, well, I spend it with Deandra’s television family, which has replaced her real one�
�on and off screen. Sometimes I wonder if I remind her too much of my dad. After he died, she became a different person and became involved in these Real Life shows with these fake people.”

  “Your name is Kali?”

  “Yes.” A warm fuzzy flittered inside her chest at the soft way Max said her name.

  “You were supposed to be my partner. Your name was on the paper Krispian handed out.”

  “Talk about coincidence.” Kali swiped at a tear escaping down her face. Again an image flashed of the other Kali in the liquid box. She wasn’t ready to share that part with Max.

  “There are no coincidences,” Max said.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she replied with a sniffle.

  “What can I do to make you feel better?” He sounded sincere. No sexual innuendo. An honest question to comfort a friend.

  “You don’t have any split-pea soup, do you?”

  “Didn’t expect that request. But, no, I’m sorry.”

  “Comfort food,” Kali explained. “My Pop-Pop made a mean split-pea. It doesn’t sound appetizing, but it was. I’ll make it for you someday.”

  “I’d like that.” Max stood and held out his hand to help her off the sofa. “I want to show you something that may be a close second to the soup.”

  Kali looked longingly at the food on the table.

  “Don’t worry, I’m bringing it with us.” He placed the crackers and chips onto the wooden board along with the cheese.

  She followed him through a door and down a flight of stairs. The air cooled. Kali smelled oil and rubber and car wax.

  Lights flickered on, revealing a garage half the size of Max’s lab. They walked past a 1970s Corvette and then a souped-up Nova and Challenger.

  “Your hobby?” Kali asked. The men she dated collected comic books or toy versions of these cars.

  “Keeps me out of trouble.” Max continued past the muscle cars to a vehicle parked on the opposite end.

  A two-toned 1961 Volkswagen Micro Bus painted sky blue on bottom, chalk white on top.

  “No way.” Kali ran over and peered inside at the wood panel interior with a cushioned bench, Formica table and platform bed in the back. Blue and white sheets, tablecloth and curtains reflected the exterior colors.

  “Thought you might like this. It belonged to my grandfather. He traveled across the country in it.” Max set the food on the table inside the vehicle.

  “I love it. No sparkling balls or Midas-groped pine trees.” Kali hopped up onto the bench inside the bus.

  Max laughed. From the other side, he slid across until his leg grazed hers.

  “Is this better?” Max removed his suit jacket and vest then his tie.

  “Much so.” Kali watched him unbutton the top buttons on his shirt and roll up the sleeves.

  “What?” His gray eyes searched her face when he caught her staring.

  Shifting to face him, Kali rested her arm on the seat behind him. Her fingers skimmed the short hairs along back of his head.

  “I need to tell you more about what happened in the other universe. But I can’t talk about it yet.”

  Max licked his lips. “Then don’t.”

  “But I do want to kiss you.”

  He leaned closer. “Why? Are you stressed?”

  “Just the opposite.”

  Kali’s hand wrapped around the back of his neck and drew him closer. Her other hand rested on his shoulder. Soft lips brushed across hers. Stubble scratched her chin. His arm snaked around her waist, drew her against his body. Head tilted, Max opened his mouth and swirled his tongue around hers. Damn, the man knew had to kiss.

  He broke away from the kiss and rested his forehead against hers. “I want you to stay. Have Christmas here if you don’t have plans.”

  “That’s a few days from now.” Kali sat back to study his face to make sure he was sincere.

  “So?”

  Kali grinned unable to stop herself. “Will you let me play with the toys in your lab?”

  “You can play with whatever you like.” Max kissed her again. A grateful kiss that turned more passionate, demanding. A thrill buzzed through her veins.

  He pulled back once more. “Let me make you that Manhattan and get actual food in you.”

  “That’s a good idea. Based on that kiss, I’ll need my energy.”

  Max responded with a peck on her cheek.

  “Be right back.” As he withdrew from the booth, she noticed a black outline of a tattoo on his upper arm under the white shirt.

  “What’s that?” Kali pointed at the ink that had been partially exposed by his t-shirt before their timeline reset.

  He pressed the fabric against his skin. Kali could make out a bold-faced M surrounded by a Celtic circle.

  “My grandfather’s unofficial logo. I found the drawing in his journals.”

  “M for Martin.” Kali nodded in understanding.

  “Actually,” he chuckled. “It stands for his nickname, ‘The Man.’”

  You can find out more about J.T. Bock’s books at her website.

  The Naughty List

  By Debra Dunbar

  “I think you fucked up.”

  The angel glared at me. “I did not. I transported us to the exact coordinates you gave me. If you were mistaken in the latitude and longitude of our destination, then I’m hardly to blame.”

  I stabbed a finger at the brochure. “Garmisch-Partenkirchen. I Googled it and everything. What kind of navigation are you using? Satellite? Map Quest? Some seventeenth-century hand-drawn shit with little dragons and sea monsters in the margins?”

  Gregory gave me a look that should have quelled any being, even a demon. It had the opposite effect on me. Being an imp, and his non-corporeal lover, meant that his anger and irritation only sent an electric thrill through every cell.

  “I use angelic navigation. Have you considered that we are in the correct location? You’ve often told me that human advertising and marketing techniques exaggerate products to better draw in purchasers.”

  He was accusing me of being a sucker. I’d been accused of worse. Besides, he was right – I’d eaten enough fast-food hamburgers to know they never looked as fresh and juicy as the lovely pictures on the drive-through menu.

  “Well. . ..” I was reluctant to admit I’d been at fault. Demons avoided taking the rap whenever possible – even sort-of-angel demons. I couldn’t imagine how they’d managed to fit a population of sixty thousand in a town that didn’t look much bigger than my forty acres back home. Maybe the government was particularly generous about the definition of ‘city limits.’

  “The dwelling looks appealing.” Gregory was trying to salvage the whole vacation, and my heart jumped an extra beat. That he cared enough about this crazy trip to make the effort — he was an angel.

  And the Hotel St. Georg was darned cute. It didn’t appear to be the four-story Alpine-style luxury getaway the brochure promised, but something about it appealed to me. My first Owned human had been from this area of the world, and I’d always gotten a warm and fuzzy feeling whenever I saw the half-timbered buildings with carved gables so prevalent in southern Bavaria.

  “Yeah, it does.” I looped my arm in his and headed across the cobblestone street to the inn.

  I wasn’t sure about the full service spa, indoor pool, two restaurants, and dance club, but the hotel did bear a slight resemblance to the one in the brochure. Thick, dark timbered beams bisected smooth white stucco. Balconies overflowed with red flowering plants. A wooden sign with a representation of the illustrious saint swung above the double doorway.

  The staff stared at us as if a three-headed dragon walked through their door.

  “Hello. Reservation for Samantha Martin, and, uh. . . Angel Hotty-pants.”

  The staring continued, so I repeated myself in German.

  “You’re not supposed to be here,” the desk clerk stuttered. She was a generously curved blond woman who, disappointingly, was not sporting a pint of beer in each outstretched ha
nd.

  I shoved my Internet receipt at her, and she paled, jabbing a pen at her keyboard and scowling at the screen. “We never have guests this week of the year. We’re all full. Let me try and book you at the next town over.”

  What the fuck? “Like hell you will. I booked a room here. Paid for it and all. I’m not leaving. And if I have to camp out in your lobby. . . well, you’ll regret it.”

  Gregory sighed, reaching over me to swivel the woman’s computer screen around. “Why yes, look there — reservations for the two of us for this week. And you’re so happy to have us here.”

  The woman’s demeanor made a one-eighty. With a welcoming smile that was just as obsequious as I’d expected, she handed us our key cards and called a very surprised bellhop to our side.

  “But, we don’t have guests this week,” he protested, reluctantly taking my bag.

  I didn’t like to rely on my angel to pave the way, but I hardly wanted to spend our vacation camped in the lobby, arguing with the staff. “Sweetie? Do you mind terribly?”

  The wicked grin he gave me indicated I’d be paying for this later. Oh, I certainly hoped so!

  And now they bowed and scraped – especially to Gregory, who loved when he had the opportunity to work his angel mojo on humans. We followed the bellhop past a cozy common area with a circular fireplace in the middle of the room, and on up to a top-floor room with a private bathroom and a cappuccino machine.

  “See? Just like the brochure,” Gregory told me, his eyes fixed with sinful attention on the cappuccino machine. I frowned, looking at the picture in my glossy tri-fold, comparing it to the room before me. Sort of, but not exactly like the brochure.

  “Welcome to Karmish-Partenkirten,” the porter said with carefully rehearsed English. “We don’t normally have visitors during this week, but there are some festivities. There is a parade tomorrow, and there will be a special chapel service tonight.”

  That’s why I’d chosen this location, well, except for the special church service. I wanted Gregory to experience the odd energy transference that occurred during this particular time of year. As an imp, I adored the commercial aspects of the holiday – particularly receiving gifts from friends, but there was a jolt of rightness that happened between the solstice and the end of the year. I thought my angel would appreciate that far more than shopping for Tiffany bracelets.