A Paranormal Easter: 14 Paranormal & Fantasy Romance Novellas

by Tiffany Carby

  As you can probably tell, my family is full of self-ascribed nerds. As I was growing up, trips to museums or symphonies or other “cultural” activities were much more common than playdates with friends, and books were more often received at birthdays and Christmas than toys. It took me a long to time to realize that this was not the norm for my peers. But I loved it. The fact that I was named after a President kindled in me an early and passionate love for American history— an obsession that eventually spread to world history and then arced all the way back into ancient history and archaeology. I devoured any information about the Romans and ancient Egyptians that crossed my path and voraciously read any book I could find about the Aztecs or the Incas. Any civilization, at any time, could hold my attention for weeks at a time. And they did— and still do. History was a natural subject for me to study in college.

  It wasn’t until I was older and in middle school that I found the second great love of my life, and I have my brother to thank for that discovery. Pierce was a little different from the other Harrisons. While the rest of us were undisputed bookworms and had always worn the egghead and teacher’s pet monikers while in school, Pierce fell unabashedly onto the geek side of the oddball spectrum. He lived in a dreamlike fantasy world in his mind, filled with dragons and wizards and warrior princes riding to the rescue of beautiful princesses. He was always vocally bored with the nonfiction books the rest of us so adored and preferred, instead, to be swept away from reality in colorful novels that told of worlds where magic was real and even young boys could be heroes.

  I, being a typical douchebag adolescent at the time, teased him mercilessly for this egregious break from the Harrison identity. Why would he rather dive into worlds that weren’t real when we could learn about things that had actually happened? Events that affected living, breathing people and unfolded all around us every day? Moments that could be seen, and heard, and experienced in real life? Pierce, for his part, didn’t care what I thought of him. He just kept on being enthralled by his own imagination— and those of others— and let my insults roll right off him.

  One afternoon— when I was in seventh grade, I think— I caught Pierce poring over a collection of small objects so intently he didn’t realize he was no longer alone. That, of course, set my older-brother-bully senses on high alert.

  “What are those?”

  He jumped at the sound of my voice, but made no attempt to hide what he was doing. “They’re my crystals.”

  I stepped closer so I could see more clearly. He did, indeed, have an impressive assortment of crystals— quartz and amethyst and many others I couldn’t hope to identify— but he also had quite a few other stones, as well. Most seemed to have gained their place in the collection by having interesting shapes or patterns of colors, or just by being a bit sparkly. One of them, however, caught my eye and held my attention just as firmly as any of my favorite books would have. It was tiny— barely the size of my smallest fingernail— and was alight with a fire that flashed with all of the colors of the rainbow, even in the dim light of Pierce’s room. I plucked it off the table and held it in the palm of hand to get a better look.

  “Hey!” Pierce protested. “That’s my opal!”

  He made a grab at it, but I saw him coming and avoided his attempt to reclaim the gem. “Where did you get it?”

  He scowled at me but seemed to decide the fastest way to get the opal back was to cooperate. “Mom took me to a gem and mineral show that came to town a few months ago,” he replied. “I spent most of my money on it.”

  I stared at the stone for a while longer. It really was gorgeous— and fascinating. It was also obvious that it meant a great deal to Pierce. After one more quick look, I handed it back. Although I was a bit of an ass, I wasn’t completely heartless.

  He relaxed visibly after the opal was back in his possession. He smiled at me, and with a look of great anticipation, he asked, “Do you want to see the rest of my crystals?”

  “Sure.”

  We spent most of that afternoon discussing rocks more thoroughly than I ever thought possible. His stash included the opal, of course, but also specimens of granite, hematite, fluorite, obsidian, fool’s gold, tiger’s eye, and too many others to remember. I found out that he collected them for use in some of the card and tabletop games he loved to play— and also because he imagined them to be part of a great dragon’s hoard.

  My curiosity was piqued for a different reason. Each one of those stones had its own story to tell. Whenever Pierce picked up that mismatched collection of rocks, jewels, and semi-precious gems, he held within his hand a grand retelling of the earth’s vast history— with all of the immense geological occurrences and considerable amounts of time required to form each and every stone. All I had to do was learn to read what they were trying to tell me.

  So, I did.

  With my usual academic enthusiasm, I studied any information I could dig up about geology in general and mineralogy in particular. It was like an entirely new world had opened up before me. Geology led to investigations into seismology, physics, chemistry, and even volcanology. I was completely immersed, and I was in nerd-heaven.

  I learned all about the different minerals and stones in Pierce’s collection, but the opal continued to hold a special place in my new obsession. Not only because it was so visually striking, but because opals could grow almost anywhere. All that was needed was sandstone, water, and a crack in the earth. Those, and time. Opals had been found in limestone, volcanic glass, and fossils. If one could be envious of a gem, I was. I wished I could so easily flourish wherever circumstances dropped me.

  I couldn’t, of course. One thing I learned well as the years went on was that I would never be one of the popular kids. I was too different— and just a little too shy— to be considered worth befriending. Who wants to spend the time trying to break through the shell to get at what was underneath, especially when doing so put one’s own reputation at risk? Get caught with the weirdo, and it was certain you’d be labeled as one, as well. Kids really can be horrible people sometimes.

  It only got worse when I got to college. Up until that point, I’d always had my family to fall back on— people who understood me and allowed me to be my strange self, even if no one at school did. But then, when I moved away to an out-of-state university, even that safety net was taken from me. I felt anxiety over it even before the term started, and it ratcheted up significantly when my roommate burst through the dorm room door and I laid my eyes on him for the first time.

  “Hey, how’re you doing, man?” he boomed as soon as he saw me. He was a good four or five inches taller than I was, and I wouldn’t have been surprised in the least if he outweighed me by eighty pounds or more. He was a solid wall of muscle, and he was graced with the kind of careless blond, angular look that the girls had always seemed to go crazy over in high school.

  Jock, I thought without hesitation, and my heart sank a little. I definitely wasn’t going to find a kindred spirit in him.

  He beelined over with his hand extended. “I’m Jake.”

  I took his hand and nearly lost my arm as he enthusiastically shook it in greeting. “Grant,” I managed to spit out in between two arm-pumps.

  “What year are you?”

  “I’m a freshman.”

  “Me, too!” He was absolutely beaming in excitement. “It’s going to be a great year, man. I can just feel it.” He flopped down on his bed. “You play any sports?”

  I scoffed before I could stop myself. “Hardly.” Even though I already knew the answer, I asked, “You?”

  “Oh, yeah,” he replied. “Football. I’ll probably ride the bench for most of this year, but at least I made the team. Good practice for next year.”

  If Jake was going to be nothing but a benchwarmer, I was wary to meet the team starters. They’d likely be as big as oxen.

  As classes began and the first few, uncertain days grew into weeks, Jake and I settled into a rhythm that wasn’t exactly comfortable but
was at least workable for the two of us. Mostly, he learned to give me my space and keep his stuff to his side of the room. Then, when he brought his friends over, I vacated the dorm and left them to do whatever it was they were going to do. I don’t think Jake ever threw a party in our room— although our RA was pretty laid back and likely would have allowed it— but if he did, he was courteous enough to make sure it was all cleaned up before I returned.

  I spent hours outside of class in the library— studying or doing homework— and when I got bored with that, I’d head outside and just walk around the university. The buildings were all made of beautiful old brick, and giant, timeworn trees lined the roads that crisscrossed through campus. When even that grew too familiar, I headed out to some of the wooded trails that surrounded two sides of the school. They were frequented by runners, hikers, and bikers, and I found them calming. No brash roommate to grate on my nerves, no self-imposed academic expectations, no time to dwell on how lonely I was. Just the wonderful, fresh air and the muted sounds of the forest wildlife and the other people who were enjoying their time in nature as much as I was.

  2

  Punch Drunk

  About a month into the fall semester, Jake decided that he was going to make sure I had some sort of social life. I’d heard that things like that happened sometimes— that an extrovert would make a project out of an introvert and do his best to pull his subject into his world. Basically, he adopted me as a little brother and determined that I was going to have fun in my free time, whether I wanted to or not. After a few weeks of turning down invitations to sporting events, group dinners at nearby restaurants, and parties off-campus, I realized that I’d finally run out of excuses. Either I was going to have to come off as surly and rude, or I was going to have to just give in and go to one of the things. Who knew? Maybe it would get Jake off my back for a while.

  “You’re going to love this, man,” Jake enthused as we walked toward one of the fraternity houses across from the dorms. We splashed through puddles on the sidewalks and in the gutters. It had been raining for days, although the clouds had finally cleared out a bit earlier that afternoon. He jabbed me playfully on the shoulder. “I’m so glad I finally got you out of your cave.”

  The fact that the party was at one of the frat houses should have made it crystal clear to me that I was not going to love whatever it was I was walking into. I may have been reclusive, but that didn’t mean I was totally insulated from the world. I’d heard the stories that were almost school-legend of some of the more spectacular shindigs that had gone down over the years.

  I could feel the beat of the music through the ground almost before I could hear it. Oh, Lord. Just before Jake pushed open the door, he drew me close to him in a conspiratorial half-hug. “Brace yourself, Grant,” he warned me with a smile. “You’ve never experienced anything like this!”

  The music hit me like a blast wave when Jake barged through the door. Before I could catch my breath, we were swept through the opening and swallowed by the crowd within. There were so many bodies crammed into the space that I had to shove people aside in order to move. I lost sight of Jake almost immediately.

  “Wonderful.”

  It was very tempting to turn around and walk back out, but Jake would never let me hear the end of it if I did. I shuffled over to the far wall, the music throbbing in my ears in time with the beat. The room was all flashing lights and flailing limbs, and it smelled of alcohol and sweat. I crammed my hands into my pockets to keep from accidentally groping someone— although, from the sheer number of hands that clapped against me as I moved, it seemed I was the only one concerned with that courtesy.

  Now what? I stared out at the writhing mass of bodies and had no idea what I was supposed to do with myself. Although I recognized a few faces from the dorms and my classes, none of them were what I would consider friends. There was no way I was going to head back into that throng voluntarily. Just the thought of having that many strangers encroaching into my personal space was almost enough to give me hives. It was incomprehensible that anyone could find these parties enjoyable.

  I spied the kitchen through an open doorway, and my stomach rumbled a little in response. I hadn’t eaten anything since that morning, so I figured I’d see what food was on offer. I pushed past dancers and couples that were well on their way toward engaging in their own, entirely different kind of dance and finally broke free into the relative emptiness of the kitchen. The amount of food that was set out was dwarfed by the presence of bottles and bottles and bottles of alcoholic beverages of every variety. There was even a big bowl of orange-colored punch and red plastic cups scattered over every flat surface, including the floor. I stepped carefully. The last thing I wanted was to land flat on my butt and end up on the ground in the middle of a bunch of questionable substances.

  I eyed the pan of brownies with skepticism and decided, instead, to go for the chips and salsa. Those seemed innocuous enough. I was eating my way through my second handful when a girl popped free of the dancing collective and wandered over to the counter next to me. I took a step back when she leaned over right in front of me to get to the punch bowl.

  “Thanks,” she acknowledged. She pushed her long locks of cinnamon hair back over her shoulder as she grabbed one of the ubiquitous red cups and dunked it directly into the bowl. She then stood upright once again and took a sip. Her big, brown eyes gave me a long, considering glance over the rim of her cup. “You must be Grant,” she stated without preamble.

  “And you know that how?”

  One side of her mouth quirked up in a smirk. “I’m a friend of Jake’s. He told me he was bringing his roommate tonight, and you’re the only one who’s as uncomfortable as he said you’d be.”

  “Well, that’s just fantastic,” I grumbled with heavy sarcasm. I wasn’t exactly sure why, but knowing that Jake was talking about me that way with his friends made me both irritable and a little sad. Labeled as the oddball again, I thought. Lovely.

  “Do you mind sharing your name, since you already know mine?” I tried not to sound like a petulant child, but I was pretty sure I failed.

  Her smile broadened. “Sure,” she replied brightly. “I’m Alyssa.”

  We stared at each other awkwardly for a few moments before she finally asked, “Enjoying yourself?”

  “Not in the least.”

  She threw her head back and laughed. “You poor boy,” she chuckled. “That’s because you aren’t doing anything. Here,” she offered as she pushed past me and scooped up another cup of punch. “Have a drink.”

  “Isn’t it spiked?”

  “Most definitely.”

  “What’s in it?”

  “Who knows?” she replied. “The boys in this house seem to like vodka, but that’s not the only option.” She gestured at the assortment of bottles that would make a barkeeper envious. “Obviously.”

  “Do you think it’s a good idea to drink something without knowing what’s in it?”

  “No.”

  She continued to hold the cup out to me. I stared at it warily, gripped by indecision. Continue to be the uptight, school-obsessed good boy, or give in and see what all this “fun” was that people kept going on about?

  “Eh, what the hell,” I finally answered, and I grabbed the cup from her and took a huge swallow. After I successfully squashed my initial urge to choke, I discovered that whatever the punch was, it actually tasted surprisingly good. The alcohol definitely gave it a bite, but once I got over that, the drink had a sweet, fruity flavor to it that reminded me of childhood birthday parties.

  Alyssa grinned in approval. “That’s my boy,” she beamed. She tapped her cup against mine, and before I knew it, we had both finished our drinks and she was getting refills. The thought flitted through my head that I should probably pass on drinking any more, but it left almost as quickly as it came. It was so nice to finally be spending time with someone where I wasn’t worried every moment about what she thought of me. For whatever reason,
she seemed to be enjoying my company as much as I was enjoying hers.

  Many people came and went as Alyssa and I wasted away the evening in the kitchen. Jake moseyed in about the time we were working on our third or fourth refills and were well beyond being anywhere near sober. We were giggling over something completely inane— for the life of me, I can’t remember now what it was.

  Jake smiled and shook his head at us. “Alyssa, be nice to the new guy. We want him to remember his first party, not just wake up tomorrow and wonder what happened.”

  Alyssa stuck her lip out. “I am being nice to him,” she pouted. “You left him all by himself. I’m just making sure he’s not lonely.” Her eyes quickly darted over to me and lit up with a gleam that immediately made me nervous. “In fact,” she continued in a sly, throaty tone, “I think I’ll make sure he isn’t lonely well into the morning.”

  She slinked up next to me and ran her fingers across my hip and into the small of my back. With a gentle but irresistible pull, she squeezed our bodies together so that we were touching from our toes to our torsos. All that my punch-drunk mind could register was that it was quite a pleasant sensation, and I was more than happy to let it continue.

  “What do you say, Mr. Brain?” she whispered. “Do you want my company?”

  She trailed the fingers of her free hand up my chest before she curled them around the back of my neck and pulled my head firmly down to meet hers. Her mouth attacked mine like some crazy, ravenous beast. Before I could react, my lower lip was between her teeth, and her tongue was running back and forth over it, questing for something I could neither identify nor give.