Paranormal After Dark: 20 Paranormal Tales of Demons, Shifters, Werewolves, Vampires, Fae, Witches, Magics, Ghosts and More

by Rebecca Hamilton

  I open the cupcake box and hand Mom hers before removing the wrapper from mine. It’s really late, and I fight back a yawn. “I still think you know more about me being magic than you said.”

  “When I talked to Silver Tiger about having a child, she told me the child would not be human, but she wouldn’t give me any more details, no matter how hard I pressed. I don’t think the witches bothered to tell Marian that much. They were running out of time.”

  “Time for what?” I lick the last of the icing off the wrapper. Decadent. I can’t wait to start working at the bakery.

  Oh no. Brianna’s going to kill me. She should be the one working for Mrs. Pullman, not me. An issue for tomorrow.

  I wearily rub my face, trying to piece everything together in my mind. “They needed a surrogate. Without a woman to give birth, they had no means to bring magic in human form into the world.”

  “Yes, but they also had to draw power from all the elements.”

  “Blood was from Scarlet Blood sacrificing herself. Earth…” I recall the article I read about the supposed magic within Mount Claymore. “Maybe from the location?”

  She nods. “Fire and air came from a specific always-burning comet that had never before and never will again pass by the earth. I don’t know how water and metal were incorporated into the spell.”

  The wrapper easily crumbles in my hand, and I toss it. It lands on the coffee table in front of the box. I do and don’t want to be magic. With Mom sitting here, I feel safe enough to try. Magic and faith don’t have to be exclusive, I remind myself. Taking a deep breath, I point at the wrapper and will it to jump into the box.

  “Relax. You’re trying too hard.”

  I almost jump, her voice breaking my concentration. “I thought my magic only works when I really want something to happen.”

  “It doesn’t have to require that much effort, or so I’ve been told.”

  The sadness in her voice haunts me. Here I am, magic incarnate, trying to harness my power in front of my mom who has never used magic.

  But her nod and smile are encouraging, so I close my eyes and picture the wrapper floating in the air and landing in the box. I don’t feel anything, so I try again, this time imagining an invisible hand picking up the wrapper and placing it in the box. Mom inhales softly. I bite my lip and open my eyes. The wrapper’s in the box.

  “Cool,” I say, but my voice shakes.

  I didn’t pray for it to happen. I did it myself.

  Has God never answered any of my prayers? Have I unknowingly answered them all myself like Silver Tiger said?

  Does God even love me since I’m not human and not one of His creations?

  Tears prickle at the corner of my eyes. I don’t know what to think, what to feel, who to believe, who to trust…

  Her eyes filled with admiration and pride, Mom holds her wrapper in her open palm. “Try with mine.”

  She loves me despite of what I am. No, she loves me for who I am. She loves me, pure and simple.

  A weight lifts off my shoulder, and I’m willing to try again. I close my eyes.

  “Keep them open this time.”

  Swallowing hard, I try to replicate what I did and felt the first time, but it’s much harder with my eyes open. The wrapper lifts off Mom’s hand several times, only to fall each time. Impulsively, I lift my right arm while imagining the wrapper floating and moved my arm to the left. The wrapper mimics my movement and drops into the box when I lower my arm to my side.

  “Wonderful.” Her clapping echoes throughout the living room.

  I don’t feel any different physically even though a storm of emotions is welling up inside me, the foremost one being tempered excitement. “Doesn’t all magic come with a price? If I do something major, will I get a headache or have a nose bleed or pass out?”

  “With you being magic, I hardly think there will be side effects to you using it.”

  “But if the shamans get ahold of me, they’ll drain me of my power and I’ll die.”

  There goes my big mouth again.

  Mom jumps to her feet. “What are you talking about?”

  I recount the events of the night I sneaked out to see the witches and finish with, “Did Silver Tiger tell you anything about shamans?”

  Her eyebrows are pinched, but I can’t tell if it’s because she’s angry with me for sneaking out or for keeping this from her or if it’s because she’s upset and worried. Probably all of it. “No, but they must be behind the car crash and the mugger. This is much worse than I could have ever imagined. I want you to come straight home from school every day.”

  I sheepishly smile. “I guess now would be a bad time to tell you that I have a job.”

  Her eyebrows arch. “Where?”

  “At the bakery.”

  “Oh, Crystal, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Why not? We can’t stop living because they learned about me and what I can do.” I hold back the other reason why I don’t want to be under house arrest. More of a who. Vince.

  Mom grimaces. “I’ve been thinking about how they know everything about us already and…”

  Her tone makes my stomach churn.

  “Maybe we should think about moving.”

  “No!” I pound my fist into the coffee table. Where did that outburst of anger come from? Get a grip, Crystal. Anger is one emotion I don’t often feel. “My whole life is here.” Our home, my friends, Vince, my parents’ graves, my high school, even my new job. So many reasons to stay. Mom doesn’t look convinced so I add, “Besides, they’ll just follow us wherever we go. Might as well stay here where we have roots.”

  Mom frowns, and wrinkles form around her eyes. “Don’t think this discussion is closed. I have to do what I feel is best to protect you.”

  Scowling, I cross my arms and sink into the flat cushions. “Since when do we run away? You always taught me to stand up for myself, to not back down.”

  “This is different. This isn’t teasing or bullying.”

  I leap to my feet and grab my books and backpack. “I have homework to do.”

  As I run upstairs, Mom calls, “It’s Friday. You have the entire weekend to work on your homework.”

  I yell back, “It’s late. I’m going to bed.”

  I’m not about to let anyone—not shamans nor witches nor Mom—dictate my actions. I’m going to live my life the way I want to.

  Chapter 16

  MY BAD MOOD still hovers over me like a storm cloud when I wake the next morning. As much as I don’t want to move away, I don’t want to spend the day in my house.

  The kitchen’s empty. Mom must be sleeping. Breakfast is simple, some orange juice and a large bowl of Cheerios. After I place my bowl in the sink, I dial Brianna’s house.

  “Hello?” she answers on the first ring. I swear she could be a gymnast the way she’ll bowl over things to get to the phone first. I’ve seen her do it so many times, and it never fails to make me smile. Except today, I’m not ready smile, at least not yet.

  “Hi, it’s me.”

  “Dad had on the evening news last night. How’s your mom? I can’t believe she got mugged the day after you were in a car crash!” The worry in my best friend’s voice forces that smile out of me after all.

  “She’s a little shaken up about it, which is understandable, but she’s going a little too far.”

  “Uh oh. Does that mean you and Vince aren’t gonna happen?”

  My eyes widen. I can’t believe I haven’t told her already. “Actually, we are dating.”

  Bri squeals so loudly I hold the phone away from my ear. “That’s great! You make such a cute couple. And who knew you two had so much in common.”

  Death—such a lovely thing for two people to bond over. Not. All that matters is that I enjoy spending time with Vince.

  But does Mom have a point? Are the shamans so desperate to get to me they’ll hurt the ones I care about? And the witches… what do they want? Because I’m willing to bet my life th
ey have plans for me too.

  Brianna has been talking as my mind wanders, and I shift my attention back to her as she says, “Tonight’s the big night.”

  “The double date?”

  “Yeah. I really hope Paula remembers what she needs to say and do.”

  “You coached her?” I feel the apples, testing their ripeness. None are quite there yet.

  “Of course! She still thinks like a little schoolgirl.”

  “She is a schoolgirl,” I point out. On second thought, I’m glad I’m not Bri’s project.

  “Yes, but if she wants to land a hottie like Sean, she needs to come out of her shell more and go after him.”

  Paula does need to open up more, but if she and Sean are going to last for more than one date, he has to like her for her.

  “How did you get out of going?” I ask.

  “I told Sean I have a family obligation. When he asked about Sunday, I told him I have to wash my hair.”

  I burst out laughing. “You didn’t!”

  “Yes. It’s the first thing I thought of. Poor Paula. I thought she was going to burst into tears, and I wanted to slug him in the face. Oh well. Whatcha up to today?”

  “I’ll think of something.”

  “Gonna spend the day at lover boy’s?”

  Another laugh bubbles out of me. “We may have kissed a few times—”

  “You guys kissed already? Geez, girl, give me some details!”

  I’m grinning so widely my cheeks hurt. “That’s all there is to tell. And please don’t call him lover boy.” It’s beyond mortifying, especially since we aren’t in love.

  Yet, hopefully.

  “Fine, since you said please. I’ll call him... prince.”

  “Prince?”

  “You know, as in prince charming.”

  I groan. “Just don’t call him that to his face.”

  “I make no promises.”

  “Ugh. What are you up to today?”

  “Spending the day with Paula and Heather. Gonna get Paula all ready for her date. Wanna join us?”

  “No thanks.”

  “‘Cause you want to spend the day with lover—prince.” She sings this gleefully.

  I smack my hand to my forehead. She’s never going to drop this. Time for another subject change. I inhale and plunge ahead with the real reason why I called. “I have a new job.”

  “Really? Where?”

  “At Pullman’s Sweets.” I wait for her to wail and cry out about the indignation of it all.

  “That’s awesome! I hope you enjoy working there.”

  My jaw drops. “Really? You aren’t upset?”

  “No! For one thing, I wouldn’t want to work there. Then everyone will think I got my recipes from her. Mrs. Pullman’s a great baker, but still, we’re enemies. And besides, if you like working there, maybe you’ll consider going into the bakery business with me someday.”

  I release a sigh of relief. Should’ve known she’d be happy for me. “Wait. Going into the bakery business with you?”

  “I’ve been thinking,” she says slowly, more serious than ever. “You could always help me with my business. A partnership. We could go to business school together and everything. You like to bake.”

  “Yeah… from a box.”

  “So? You can learn. That’s what culinary school is for.”

  “I guess.”

  “Promise me you’ll think about it.”

  I shrug even though she can’t see me. “Sure.”

  I can just picture her lips twisting into a disappointed pout. When she gets an idea in her head, she expects everyone else to fall in line and do what she said. But I have a mind of my own, and I don’t think I’ll be happy as Brianna’s partner. Maybe at first, but not for the rest of my life. I don’t know if our friendship could withstand being business partners.

  “I’m sorry?” For some reason, it’s not a statement.

  “Don’t worry about it. Just an idea I had. Didn’t mean to spring it on you.”

  She sounds happy again. Good. I’m having a hard time dealing with my emotions lately—there’s been so many ups and downs. “You know, my real mom used to help out there, at the bakery.”

  “How cool is that? You get to share something with her even though…”

  Yeah, thinking before she speaks is not one of Brianna’s strongest suites.

  There’s a commotion in the background.

  “Gotta go. Pray for Paula!”

  “I will.”

  I hang up. Since there’s still no sign of Mom, I call Vince. The line’s busy, so I try Lydia next.

  “Hey, it’s Crystal. Are you up for some detective work?”

  “About your dad?” Her excitement bubbles over the line.

  “Yep.”

  “I’m game. Want me to pick you up?”

  “Sure.”

  “Cool. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

  Now that I’m leaving the house, Vince and I have no way to get ahold of each other. I have got to convince Mom I need a cell. No way am I just going to stay home and wait around for him to call. I’m not one of those girls who is nothing without her boyfriend.

  After I change into a jean skirt and a soft pink top, I softly knock on Mom’s door and ease it open.

  Mom sits on her bed, a huge old book in her lap with several more scattered around her. Bags darken beneath her eyes. “Hi, honey.”

  “Did you sleep at all?” I sit on the edge of the bed.

  “Not really.” Her yawn is so big I can see all of her teeth. “I’ve been going through some books Elizabeth—Silver Tiger—gave me. There’s nothing in here about magic or magic incarnate or even the shamans. I’m trying to research them. I always thought they were peaceful.”

  “That’s what I said!” My smile melts away. The shaman who fought the witch was definitely far from peaceful. Was he the same one who threatened Mom?

  The only ones I can ask are Sapphire Belladonna and Silver Tiger, but who knows if Sapphire Belladonna is back, and I don’t want to have to spend time alone with Silver Tiger, not if I can help it. Regardless of Mom’s connection to her, I don’t care for the haughty witch.

  Besides, it might be better to wait until the witches seek me out. That’s bound to happen sooner or later, and probably the former.

  “I’m gonna spend the day with Lydia,” I announce.

  Mom’s lips twist into a frown.

  “I’m going,” I say firmly. “I won’t go anywhere by myself.”

  She dips her head to the side then nods. “What about Bri?”

  “She’s busy.”

  “And Vince?”

  I lift one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “Maybe tonight?” My cheeks burn.

  Her sad smile cuts through me. “You’re growing up. Spreading your wings.”

  “Come on, Mom, don’t start that ‘time to leave the nest and fly’ crude.” I stare out the window at the sky. “Can witches fly?”

  Her laugh echoes in the mall room. “Yes. I’m sure you could too, if you practiced.”

  “Huh.” Now that’s awesome. Scary, but wicked awesome.

  My ears prickle at the sound of faint knocking downstairs. “There’s Lydia.”

  “Have fun.”

  “Oh, and, Mom? Can you think about my having a cell phone? It would really mean a lot to me. You’ll worry less because I’ll call and check in all the time and—”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Score! Whenever Mom says, “I’ll think about it,” it always turns into a yes. Whenever she says, “We’ll see,” it means no.

  I run downstairs and ask Lydia to head to the hospital. Once we arrive, I stroll up to the information desk, Lydia right behind me. “Hi,” I say to the thirty-something receptionist. “Can you tell me how long medical records are kept for patients?”

  “Are you asking about your own record?” She holds her fingers poised over the letters on her keyboard.

  “My father. He was a patient here sevent
een years ago.”

  The woman relaxes her posture, and her hands slip away from the keys. No strands slip out of her serious bun as she shakes her head. “I’m afraid it’s highly unlikely we kept records from that long ago. Has he been here recently?”

  “No. He died sixteen and half years ago.”

  “Then I can’t help you. Federal law only requires that we keep records for seven years.” She grabs a post-it note. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll do some digging, and if I find anything, which I probably won’t, I’ll let you know.”

  I give her my name, my father’s, and my phone number. “Thank you.”

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful. Have a nice day.”

  A dead end. So frustrating. I grimace and turn to Lydia. “That was a dead end.”

  She touches my arm. “We aren’t leaving yet.”

  I raise my eyebrows.

  “Let’s head up to the oncology department.”

  Why not? We ride the elevator to the sixth floor. The smell of antiseptic spray and sickness fills the air. The walls are a bright white, but the tile floor’s a yucky green color that reminds me of vomit.

  Lydia leads the way. “My dad works in a different department, but he’s friends with some of the doctors up here. Hello, Dr. Ericson.”

  A tall man, early forties with little goatee, stops walking down the hall. “Hello, Lydia. What brings you here?”

  “My friend just learned she was adopted. Her dad was a patient here seventeen years ago.”

  “A cancer patient?” He glances over at me and nods in greeting.

  “Yes. She wanted to learn more about him since his cancer took him. His name was…”

  “Daniel Wynter,” I supply.

  “Do you know if any of the doctors have been here for seventeen years?” Lydia asks. “I know it’s a stretch.”

  “Just Dr. Anderson but he’s on vacation. You can try again next week.” He smiles apologetically. “I have to get going. I have patients waiting.”

  “Of course,” Lydia says.

  “Thank you,” I call, but he’s already ducking into a room.

  “At least that’s a little more hopeful.” Lydia grins, her red hairband falling forward over her short black hair. “Wouldn’t it be great if Dr. Anderson was your father’s doctor?”