by Janni Nell
Dance of Flames
By Janni Nell
Family vacations fill me with horror—and for a woman who makes her living as a paranormal investigator, that’s saying a lot. Still, I couldn’t turn down a month in sunny Spain and the chance of flamenco lessons with Casper, my gorgeous guardian angel—even if it did mean sharing a villa with my mother.
But it’s true what they say, there’s no rest for the wicked. We’d barely unpacked when the maid started having dreams of being tortured on the rack—dreams my intuition tells me are something more than your average terrifying nightmare. After all, we are in the land of the infamous inquisition, and she does have those unexplained marks…
So for now my dance partner’s going to have to wait for me to get to the bottom of this mystery, and when I do, I plan to send evil packing.
21,000 words
Dear Reader,
June is a good month for us here at Carina Press. Why? Because it’s the month we first started publishing books! This June marks our two-year anniversary of publishing books, and to celebrate, we’re featuring only return Carina Press authors throughout the month. Each author with a June release is one who has published with us previously, and who we’re thrilled to have return with another book!
In addition to featuring only return authors, we’re offering two volumes of Editor’s Choice collections. Volume I contains novellas from three of our rising stars in their respective romance subgenres: Shannon Stacey with contemporary romance novella Slow Summer Kisses, Cindy Spencer Pape with steampunk romance Kilts & Kraken, and Adrienne Giordano with romantic suspense novella Negotiating Point.
From the non-romance genres comes Editor’s Choice Volume II, and four fantastic novellas: paranormal mystery Dance of Flames by Janni Nell, science-fiction Pyro Canyon by Robert Appleton, humorous action-adventure No Money Down by Julie Moffett, and Dead Calm, a mystery novella from Shirley Wells.
Later in June, those collections are joined by a selection of genres designed to highlight the diversity of Carina Press books. Janis Susan May returns with another horror suspense novel, Timeless Innocents, following up her fantastic horror debut, Lure of the Mummy. Mystery author Jean Harrington offers up The Monet Murders, the next installment in her Murders By Design series. And the wait is over for fans of Shawn Kupfer’s debut science-fiction thriller, 47 Echo, with the release of the sequel, Supercritical. Rounding out the offerings for mystery fans, W. Soliman offers up Risky Business, the next novel in The Hunter Files.
Romance fans need not dismay, we have plenty more to offer you as well, starting with The Pirate’s Lady, a captivating fantasy romance from author Julia Knight. Coleen Kwan pens a captivating steampunk romance in Asher’s Invention, and fans of m/m will be invested in Alex Beecroft’s emotional historical novella His Heart’s Obsession.
If it’s a little naughty time you’re longing for, be sure to check out Lilly Cain’s Undercover Alliance, a sizzling science-fiction erotic romance.
We’re proud to showcase these returning authors, and the amazing books they’ve written. We hope you’ll join us as we move into our third year of publishing, and continue to bring you stories, characters and authors you can love!
We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to [email protected]. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.
Happy reading!
~Angela James
Executive Editor, Carina Press
www.carinapress.com
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Dedication
To my dear friend
Amanda
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to my editor Deborah Nemeth for all her helpful suggestions. And to copyeditor Anne-Marie Rutella for her careful reading of the manuscript.
There are many people working hard behind the scenes, who deserve acknowledgement: Aideen, Carly, Brendan, Amy, Eleanor, Jenny, Tara, Andrea and the wonderful team who put together the cover copy.
Last but not least, big hugs to Angela James for leading Carina Press from strength to strength.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
About the Author
Copyright
Chapter One
Bloodcurdling screams are a pain in the ass. We’d endured them every night since arriving in the villa and it was getting old. A family vacation in Spain is not supposed to include sleepless nights. Well, not unless you’re at a tavern drinking sangria and dancing flamenco. Things had got so bad Mom was threatening to replace the maid with someone who didn’t suffer nightmares. Much as I hated to admit it, I was beginning to agree with her. Don’t get me wrong—I liked Consuela, but I was home alone babysitting and I’d just got my niece to sleep.
Abandoning the terrace along with my piña colada and the amazing view of the Mediterranean, I hurried to Consuela’s room. Her door was locked. I knocked and called, “Consuela, wake up.” Another scream shredded my eardrums. I considered kicking the door in and clapping my hand over her mouth, but Mom would kill me if she had to pay damages for a broken door. Not the money, you understand, the embarrassment. I headed outside hoping Consuela’s window was open.
Yep, just a crack, but enough for me to push it wider. Groans drifted from the darkness within. Another scream was only a breath away. Folding my six-foot-and-one-half-inch frame, I slid over the sill and into her room. Night turned everything to shades of gray. I could just make out a sitting area and TV near the window. Moving toward the sound of her moans, I banged into a low table, knocking a lamp off balance. I caught it before it crashed to the floor. Flicking the switch, I filled the room with ghost-pale light.
Consuela’s sheets were tangled around her. Hair clung to her scalp, dark rivers amongst islands of sweat. She arched her back and opened her mouth. I rushed forward to cover her mouth. Her scream crashed against my hand and retreated into her throat. When she coughed, I removed my hand. She blinked, shielding dark-circled eyes from the light. Her olive skin was unnaturally pale. She whimpered in Spanish, but I didn’t understand a word.
“You’re okay,” I said. “It was just a dream. You’re here in the villa. Safe.”
“Potro,” she said, her eyes suddenly wide and staring. A sob broke from her throat. “Potro.”
I crouched beside her, resting my hand on her damp forehead. She sucked in a breath and sat up. One arm was held at her side slightly away from her body. Her face was twisted in pain.
Was that what potro meant? Pain? Or did it mean arm? Or get me to a hospital, now?
“Do you need a doctor?” I asked.
“Sí, doctor,” she said.
“Did someone break in?” I asked, remembering the open window. “Did they hurt you?”
The color drained from her face. Her eyes rolled back in their sockets, and she sucked in air as though she’d just run a marathon.
“Take it easy,” I said, squeezing her good shoulder. “It’s okay.” That was when she fainted.
Great, how would I call a doctor? I knew less than five words of Spanish and two of those were piña and colada. But I had to do something for
her. She’d kicked off the sheets and I now saw that, as well as the shoulder injury, there was an ugly burn on her thigh. It looked almost like a brand—a circle surrounding the number one. My right big toe had been itching since I’d entered her room, and that meant the paranormal was somehow involved. A thorough investigation would have to wait until she’d received medical treatment and, since I couldn’t communicate with a Spanish doctor, I’d have to throw myself on the mercy of my stepfather’s golfing buddy.
Nigel Noffrends was a British surgeon who owned a neighboring villa. He didn’t usually make house calls, especially when he was on vacation, but mentioning I was the stepdaughter of Stephen Richard Hampton XXXIII encouraged him to make an exception.
I was heaving a sigh of relief when my niece began to howl.
Leaving the unconscious Consuela sprawled on her bed, I hurried to comfort Little Allegra, but I didn’t make it past the living room. A figure detached itself from the shadows and blocked my way. He was taller than me by several inches, big and built. Darkness shrouded his face. I drew back my fist. Punch First and Ask Questions Later, that’s my motto. The figure grabbed my wrist, stopping the punch before it connected with his jaw.
“It’s me,” Casper said.
My guardian angel had a habit of appearing without warning. More than once I’d told him to whistle before he appeared, but he often forgot. One day I really would punch him.
In case you didn’t know, Casper was once a Germanic warrior. He died fighting the Romans around the first century AD, a time when raping and pillaging was all the rage. Crimes like that demanded a lot of penance, and Casper had already spent over two thousand years making amends for his violent life. After all this time I figured he was pretty close to earning enough credit points to enter Heaven.
“Why’re you wandering around in the dark?” I demanded, unwilling to pull my wrist from his grip. Trust me, it was a rare pleasure to feel Casper’s bare skin against mine.
“I just arrived,” he said. “There was no time to turn on a light. Do you want me settle Little-A while you talk to the doctor?”
In the dark, he probably couldn’t see my suspicious expression. “If you’ve only just arrived, how do you know Consuela needs a doctor?”
He sounded kind of sheepish. “Maybe I was watching over you before I appeared. I’m an angel. Watching over you is what I do.”
I’d been glad of it in the past so I didn’t complain. Anyway Little-A’s cries had increased in volume. I headed to her room, beckoning Casper to follow. After lifting her out of her cot and drying her eyes, I said, “You remember Uncle Casper, don’t you?”
She grinned, revealing teeny teeth, and reached out her chubby arms. “Ca. Ca.”
“That’s right. Uncle Casper is going to look after you for a while.”
He took Little-A in his arms. She babbled happy baby-talk, but I was glad she couldn’t tell her mom I’d palmed her off on my guardian angel. Lily would not be pleased. Although to be fair, Lily didn’t know Casper was an angel.
Nigel arrived much quicker than an ambulance. He marched in—uncombed hair flying every which way, silver stubble on his jaw—and took control. He immediately calmed Consuela with his excellent Spanish. I waited in the hall while he examined her. When he was done, he told me he was pretty sure her shoulder was dislocated and, of course, there was that burn on her thigh. He got to work splinting one and dressing the other with items from his extensive first aid kit. While Consuela held an ice pack on her shoulder, he offered to drive her to the hospital for further treatment.
“Did she tell you how she was injured?” I asked.
“No.”
“Your best guess?”
“It’s possible she suffered an episode of somnambulism. Perhaps she fell. We can discuss this later. I must get my patient to hospital.”
As I helped her into Nigel’s car, I remembered the word Consuela had said in her nightmare. “What does potro mean?”
“Horse or colt,” he muttered, as he climbed into the driver’s seat.
Before he closed the door, I said, “Does potro have another meaning? Other than horse?”
“Rack,” he said distractedly, “the kind that was used for torture.” A strange expression passed across his face as though something about Consuela’s injuries suddenly made sense. “That’s ridiculous,” he muttered to himself. “We’re not living during the Inquisition.” Then he slammed the door and floored it to the hospital.
I hurried inside in case Casper was having trouble putting Little-A to sleep. The first thing that struck me was the silence.
“Casper,” I whispered, unwilling to speak any louder and risk waking my niece. When there was no answer, I tiptoed into her room, but neither she nor Casper was there. I ran through the villa searching for them, calling for him to come out now or face the consequences.
“This isn’t funny. Lily could be home any minute. She’d prefer to find her baby crying than AWOL.”
I hurried onto the terrace. Moonlight spilled over the Mediterranean. A winged figure flew across the backdrop of stars. It carried something small and baby-shaped.
“Come down at once,” I called. “What the heck do you think you’re doing?”
He alighted gently on the terrace. “Shh, you’ll wake her. I’ll put her to bed then you can continue yelling at me.”
With difficulty I kept my voice to a whisper. “I’ve got more important things to do than yell at you.”
“Excellent.” He sounded relieved. “I’ll watch over her while you do whatever you have to.” Cradling the baby in his arms, he went inside.
Instead of going with him, I returned to Consuela’s room and did what I’d been longing to do since she’d suffered her first nightmare two weeks ago. Let’s not call it snooping. I prefer reconnaissance.
I now had plenty of time to take in all the things I’d missed before. Pots of herbs stood on a table near the open window, spilling their sweet scent over the cozy living area. A beautiful red-and-black rug covered the floorboards. Matching cushions reclined on the sofa. The tangled sheets of the single bed contrasted sharply with the tidiness elsewhere in the room. Turning away from the lingering stink of sweat and fear, I ignored the white doors of the closet to focus on the dark wooden bureau. It was covered with a beautifully embroidered strip of linen, which boasted a collection of ornaments. The itch in my toe got worse.
Any one of the ornaments could’ve been responsible. Holding each one and noting how it affected me was the only way to be sure. I began with the crucifix, but there was no change in my toe. Next I selected a hand-painted vase. Very pretty, but no cigar. In quick succession, I picked up and discarded a ceramic bluebird, a stack of romance novels in Spanish and a brass candleholder complete with melted wax. That just left the paperweight. It was shiny like black glass but some of its edges were razor-sharp. I found that out the hard way. Sucking the blood from my fingertip, I bent to scratch my toe.
“Good grief, Allegra, what are you doing in there?”
I snapped to attention and faced Mom, who stood in the doorway smartly dressed in the pale suit and stilettos she’d worn to dinner. “Where is Consuela? Is she out partying? No wonder she can’t remember to dust the indoor plants.”
“Nigel has taken her to the hospital. Her shoulder might be dislocated.”
“How did that happen?”
“We don’t know.” I’m not sure Mom cared just so long as she wasn’t liable.
“Which hospital?” She pulled a little notebook from her purse. “I must send flowers. And organize another maid. On the bright side we won’t be woken by Consuela’s nightmares again and we might actually find someone who can dust.”
“Don’t count on it,” I said, as Lily appeared behind Mom. “Times are tough.”
“Lose the snark, Allegra.” Mom’s lips were pursed in the expression Lily and I used to call Pruneface.
Behind Mom’s back, Lily copied her expression. I tried not to laugh.
Mom said, “I know what you’re doing, Lily.”
Wow, Mom still had eyes in the back of her head.
Lily, happily tipsy, said, “Thanks for babysitting. Little-A is sound asleep. She looks just like a cherub.”
“My pleasure.” I tried not to look guilty. Lily wouldn’t be happy if she knew Casper was the one who’d rocked Little-A to sleep. She’d be positively livid if she knew he’d done it midair.
“By the way,” she asked, “who or what is ca ca? Little-A was mumbling in her sleep.”
I shrugged. “Just some baby babble.”
“Funny,” Lily murmured. “She giggled right after she said it. She sounded really excited.”
“Probably had a good dream.”
“Maybe. Anyway thanks again.” Lily yawned and trotted off to bed.
Mom focused on me again. “What exactly are you doing in Consuela’s room?”
I could have lied but it would only fuel her curiosity. Honesty was guaranteed to stop her questions dead. “I’m trying to find out if there’s a paranormal reason for her injuries.”
Mom groaned. She was more tolerant of my job since I’d stopped a malhag killing members of Steven’s family, but she wasn’t thrilled that my occupation was going to intrude on the vacation. “Do you have to bring the—” she lowered her voice, “—paranormal everywhere you go?”
Funny that I couldn’t even take a vacation without my job intruding. Still it had always been more of a vocation than a job anyway. Interesting that there was only one letter difference between the words vocation and vacation. Did that mean vocation was the vacation you had while you were working?
