Just A Little Wicked: A Limited Edition Collection of Magical Paranormal and Urban Fantasy Tales

by Lily Luchesi

  “Little one, what’s your name?”

  Rhett made the smallest sound, barely a grunt, before settling back down.

  “Let her answer. She is a twenty-first century woman, after all, and accustomed to speaking her mind.”

  Unsure what warning Rhett might have given her if allowed to speak, Mari wished she had given herself the ability to speak telepathically or to read minds. Night vision seemed clever at the time and now felt like a waste of magic.

  No matter how much she tried, she only successfully cast three spells in her entire life. It was one of the reasons she never bothered to out herself as a witch. Without drowning in resentment, there was no use wondering how her life would have been different if she had the opportunity to become a trained witch.

  Awkwardly, she mumbled, “Marigold.”

  “And people call you … Mar, Mary, Marie?”

  “Yes,” she confirmed. “Mari.”

  “And do you know who I am?”

  She nodded repeatedly before saying, “Yes. Your name is Mosha. You’re a master vampire like Rhett, but older. ”

  “And?”

  “And Master of the Land, of Stone Throw and the rest of New Hampshire.”

  Mosha continued to hold Rhett’s jaw as if she hadn’t decided yet if she wanted to break it or rip his head off.

  “Correct. Other names I adored came before this one, but I must shed my identity every thirty years or so to adapt. It’s annoying but effective.” The Master of the Land shrugged. “I’m also much older than your master, and therefore wiser and stronger.”

  Mari simply nodded, fearing what would happen next.

  “There’s a box on the high table, Mari. Bring it here.”

  She walked over to the high table near the center of the room with uncooperative feet that felt like cement blocks. She reached the wooden table by bumping into it. As the table tilted, she spotted the large, ostentatious gift wrapped in white and silver striped paper and tied shut with an oversized bow made of silver ribbon. Mari wiped her sweaty palms along the sides of her dress before lifting the box. She dropped it and moaned when a wave of nausea and dizziness swept over her body. Able to feel each wound she bore again, Mari’s body screamed, Don’t ignore me!

  She didn’t dare piss off Mosha more than she already had by merely existing. Mari made herself swallow a couple of times to help ease her dry throat. The wave of nausea eased a bit. She picked up the gift box carefully and approached the two supernatural beings at war.

  “Present your master with his Christmas gift.” The eerie half smile that Mosha wore allowed one fang to peek out.

  She released Rhett’s jaw. He remained kneeling. In solidarity with her master, Mari knelt too.

  Mosha took a step back and said, “Open it.”

  * * *

  Rhett and Mari locked eyes and one question bridged the space between them, How do we get out of this alive? Rhett remained silent. After his recent breakup, Mari didn’t think he could look any more melancholy; but now, now he looked profoundly pitiful kneeling in front of her and before his master.

  With eyes that blurred and skin that broke out into a cold sweat, Mari placed the big box on the floor in between them. Only knowing the size and weight of the box, she tried to guess what was inside. A silver knife or a wooden stake? A bleeding heart or a ticking bomb? A creepy spider or a poisonous snake? Her snake bites continued to wreak havoc on her system as venom slowly coursed through her veins. She needed her master’s help to survive and, ironically, he needed her help more.

  She could only assume that this was the undeniable signal Rhett mentioned hours ago in reference to how his gift would be received by Boone, his ex-boyfriend. That stupid package she dropped off at sunset. That innocuous box which hissed and rattled intriguingly. She lazily left it at the front door of Mosha’s residence instead of handing it directly to Boone as instructed. She blamed herself for their current predicament.

  “I’m sorry,” Mari said as she leaned forward to open the box.

  Rhett’s hands stilled her own. Holding hands again for a brief moment, he squeezed them and then pushed them away gentle.

  “I believe this gift is for me, my dear.”

  His watery eyes held the apology he didn’t have time to voice. Silver ribbons slid away at the slightest tug. The lid lifted without resistance. Mari’s eyes remained focused on Rhett’s face when he looked into the open box. He froze. No breath left his body and no muscles twitched. Like the statue he allowed himself to become when he didn’t feed on blood for weeks at a time, he remained still.

  Then three things happened simultaneously. Mosha chuckled. Mari screamed. Rhett attacked. Mosha’s half smile grew across her face and she let out a triumphant sound. Mari’s curiosity took control and she looked down to see what had stolen Rhett’s breath away. The grotesque and severed head of Boone, the man that broke her master’s heart, laid in the cushioned gift box. She wanted to deny who she saw, but Boone’s bushy unibrow, full beard and gold-tipped vampire fangs were undeniable. The handsome, fair-skinned, and well-groomed vampire that abruptly ended his liaison with Rhett was dead.

  Maybe Mari would have froze as well, or cried, but Boone’s detached head wobbled. Another bold and distinctly colored poisonous snake slithered out of his open mouth. Any pretense of being okay shattered and she screamed. She screamed in shock and fright. She screamed in pain as her body ached and demanded medical attention. Mari screamed in commiseration with her master’s unbearable pain. And she screamed at the understanding that she would not survive this cold, winter night no matter who won this war between two vampires.

  Rhett let out a single, breathy moan, barely above a whisper, and then launched himself at Mosha. She may have been older, wiser, and stronger, but the wrath of a cornered creature was undeniable. Her human eyes could barely comprehend the furious sounds and lightning fast movements as these two supernatural creatures fought viciously. Furniture broke. Blood splattered. Twice Mari fell in her clumsy attempts to stand and move out of their way. She took a punch to her temple and another to her abdomen. Doubled over in a new wave of pain and short of breath, Mari coughed up blood.

  She raised a hand high above her head. If she had been given even a single magic lesson, maybe she would have known a spell to preserve her life or protect them from Mosha’s vengeance. Feeling every bit as weak and useless as she discovered she was four years ago, Mari prayed to God. Or maybe she simply prayed to herself.

  Don’t break. Don’t.

  Mari whispered this mantra to herself over and over again. When a brief respite from the pain of her organs failing presented itself, she summoned the magic around her. She didn’t have the right words or the discipline to wield fire, water, or electricity. She couldn’t stop time or open a portal. Overflowing with emotion, and fumbling with her loose handle of magic, Mari blasted the small trickle of magic she collected outward in an attempt to stop Mosha from ripping out Rhett’s heart.

  It worked, sort of. All three of them fell, injured. Mari laid flat on her back, gasping for air as her heartbeat slowed. Turning her head to the right, she spotted her master. Instead of Mosha’s hand piercing his chest, Rhett sat on the ground with his back leaning against the bookshelf-lined wall in the back of the room. Mosha remained kneeling for a few seconds longer with her head down and her arms crossed in front of her, forming an X. She looked up and zeroed in on Mari’s location. That half smile slid across her face again.

  “Interesting parlor trick.”

  That trick took all the energy and wherewithal Mari had left. While it didn’t slay dragons or vampires, at least Mari’s burst of magic stopped the two seemingly immortal beings in their tracks.

  Then, Mosha stood tall and tidied her appearance. She walked toward Mari with deliberate, slow and steady steps. Perhaps, she wondered if Mari had any more fight left in her. Using her elbows to push up was the best Mari could do in anticipation of a vampire attack.

  With five feet between t
hem, Rhett intervened. He appeared in the blink of an eye and positioned himself in between the two women.

  Kneeling before his master once again, he said, “I surrender. I lost my head when my heart broke. The snake was meant for Boone and Boone alone. I needed him to suffer with me. The thought of him happily by your side and in your bed poisoned my mind.”

  He wheezed and clutched his chest. He closed his eyes and then popped them back open. His chest wound wasn’t healing. Considering he fed tonight, he should have started recovering by now. Very few things slowed down the healing process of a supernatural being. He narrowed his eyes as he looked at Mosha’s blood soaked nails.

  “Indeed, these stiletto nails are silver tipped,” she confirmed while looking down at him. “Boone enjoyed the exhilaration and danger of fucking me while I scratched his back in the throes of passion with this sinful nail design.”

  Mosha continued, “He was mine and had no business seeking pleasure elsewhere. I tried punishing him and then forgetting about his indiscretion. But you couldn’t leave it alone. He tried to open the box privately, but I demanded he open his gift from his former lover in front of me. That snake sliding out and biting him—”

  She shook her head. “I couldn’t let you two ruin my favorite holiday with your theatrics. And I certainly wasn’t going to allow you to sully my reputation. No one makes a fool of me and lives to do it twice. No one. Not Boone, and certainly not you.”

  “Spare her,” Rhett pleaded. “It is I who have offended you one too many times. You’ve dealt with our shared lover. You’ve dismantled my coven. And you can do your worst to me. But she is still human, and a young one at that. Let her remember tonight and live with a healthy fear of us fanged creatures.”

  Mari wobbled, even in her sitting position, and everything continued to hurt. It was Christmas Eve, and Rhett made his best effort to gift her with a second chance at life.

  Seeing him humbled, injured, remorseful and despondent, Mari could not prevent herself from being reminded of Heath. Her brother was depressed over a breakup too. Weakly, she shook her head in an attempt to let her memory of him fade. The only gift she wanted from her master was a transformative bite that would result in her leaving her human worries and flaws behind.

  Mari wanted to be anything but herself. When she met Rhett about a year and a half ago, he promised to look out for her, and convinced her that a nonchalant vampire lifestyle trumped being human any day of the week. Tonight, reality struck like lightning and illuminated all of Mari’s misconceptions. Vampires experienced heartbreak and terror too.

  “I promise,” the Master of the Land vowed, “that both of you will die today.”

  Sunrise on December 25th

  Rhett gargled as Mosha punctured his chest with her silver-tipped stiletto nails, completing the attack she started earlier. It took seconds for her to rip out her enemy’s heart. Self-assured in her indignation, she didn't hesitate to toss the still pulsing heart of a 300-year-old creature away. Frozen in overwhelming disbelief, Mari’s eyes were the only part of her capable of moving. She watched the bloody, life-sustaining organ arch through the air and land in the gift box that held Boone's severed head and the poisonous snake.

  "Fitting," Mosha said as she wiped her blood soaked hand on the hip of her blue jeans.

  Then, the equally beautiful and terrifying vampire pushed aside Rhett's dead body. These long-lived creatures seemed immortal, but, in fact, they could perish if separated from their head or heart. Most humans simply lacked the skills and training necessary to become supernatural slayers.

  "It appears you share your master's death wish. Coming to my residence uninvited and offering insult."

  Mari gulped.

  “You have a simple choice to make, Mari, and only two or three minutes to decide. We can let the venom complete its course through your body and stop your heart. Or I can turn you into a vampire. Either way, you will not be alive for long.”

  Stunned, Mari sat there, blinking up at Mosha rather unintelligently. She assumed her only hope of transforming died with her master. Although flawed, she knew Rhett and trusted him. This offer was different. Mosha had every reason to kill her and move on. Why bother offering near-immortality?

  “I see the curiosity and bewilderment written all over your face. Dare I say I also see hope?” Mosha smirked. “My reasons are my own, but I will say this: I’m curious to see if I can transform a witch into a vampire.”

  Before she finished speaking, Mari began nodding. The multitude of questions and concerns that bubbled to the surface fizzed away, ignored. Mari had nothing left to lose.

  “Good.” Mosha swept Marigold up bridal style and carried her into Rhett’s connecting bedroom. “There isn’t any time left for questions. Know that my bite will hurt, your heart will stop beating and you will die. My intent and magic-infused DNA will mingle inside of you. Then it is out of our hands. You may or may not wake up a beautified and ravenous beast bonded to me for eternity. Ja?” Her explanation ended in a German accent; her fangs descended, and her facial muscles took on an angled, predatory look.

  “Yes,” Mari replied, giving verbal consent. “Make me whole again.”

  * * *

  Dying alone and full of regret, Marigold couldn’t think of a worse fate. Is this what I deserve? She was certain her parents wished her dead. More so, they wished her brother was alive and that she was not.

  Heath died from alcohol poisoning four years ago at a college party she hosted before spring break. Under the guise of cheering up her brother, she threw together an unforgettable dorm room party.

  Mari knew he was depressed from his recent breakup, that he wasn’t much of a drinker, and that he’d rather play video games or watch a movie with her. But she desperately wanted to show off her brilliant brother, the medical school student. Mari wanted her peers to see her as more than the shy, straight-A student they could buy study notes from.

  Focused on looking sexy and acting cool, she didn’t stop to think about what he needed from her that day. She thrust her reserved brother at her friends and pressured him to play one drinking game after another.

  Then, her biology lab partner showed up. Mari invited Wen, but didn’t think her crush would bother checking out her dorm room party. He came with friends. They looked elitist and out of place among the nerds and bohemians mingling in tight quarters.

  Wen approached as she completed one of her hourly circuits around the connected rooms, welcoming guests, discarding abandoned plastic cups and paper plates, and straightening knocked over decor. He complimented her. In his company, the ever present giant ball of tension with its unknown origins inside of Mari dissipated. Basking in the glow of his smile, her words flowed and her confidence grew.

  Sometime after playing beer pong, and before experiencing her first kiss while away at college, she lost track of her brother. Swept up in the success of her party and the sparks flying between her and her crush, she let go of her self-consciousness and her compassion. One unexpected, yet highly dreamt of, kiss from Wen and Mari didn’t concern herself with her brother’s whereabouts or wellbeing until the next morning.

  However, morning came too late and reality struck too early.

  A little after five o’clock in the morning, while tip toeing on cold hardwood floors as she made her way to the bathroom, Marigold tripped over a pile of clean but unfolded laundry. She landed on something soft yet firm, and quickly realized it was a hand.

  Kneeling, her eyes followed the cold and limp hand to the attached arm and face. She sighed in relief when she confirmed that the sleeping man was all in one piece. Mari never experienced extreme violence or death before and blamed the abundance of crime dramas on TV for allowing her mind to jump to such a terrifying assumption.

  “You idiot,” she said mildly to whom she now recognized as her sleeping brother. “Wake up.” She gave his shoulder a gentle shove with her bare foot to help him along. Half expecting him to grab her foot or yell, his stillness
surprised her. “Heath, get up.”

  Knowing he slept lightly, her brows furrowed with concern. Mari gave him a not so gentle shove with her foot and stepped back. Surprised that he didn’t awaken in outrage, her eyes blurred with unshed tears. Her stomach soured and twisted. Feeling both weak and heavy, she dropped back down to the floor.

  “Heath,” Mari whispered as she touched his face.

  Dull, dry skin clashed with his peaceful look of slumber. She cried when he didn’t respond to her last attempt to wake him up. She cried as she laid beside him on the cold floor and ignored the world for a moment. She cried when she retrieved her cell phone and dialed 911 to reach emergency services.

  She called her parents next. And after the worst phone conversation of her life, she was out of tears and barely able to talk through her sore throat. By the time the police and ambulance arrived, her shock had turned into numbness. Taciturn, she mustered enough energy and focus while in survival mode to answer a thousand accusatory and repetitious questions in a monotone “yes” or “no.”

  The three weeks that followed were the longest, loneliest days of her life. On one ill-fated morning, she lost her brother, her parents, her motivation to learn, and her ability to feel.

  Marigold’s desire to die for the past four years may not have been healthy or admirable, but it was understandable. According to her and her family, Mari was already dead.

  * * *

  She laid there, painfully aware that her heart still pumped blood and her lungs still filtered air. Mari kept her teary eyes closed, breathing even, and body relaxed. She laid on Rhett’s four-poster, king bed with her t-shirt dress bunched up around her upper thighs and her loose hair scattered across the gray, sateen pillowcase. She let thoughts of her brother flow freely for the first time in years.