Harvest of Holidays

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  About Harvest of Holidays

  Fourth of July

  Halloween

  Thanksgiving

  Christmas

  New Year’s Eve

  The next book in The Stonebrood Saga

  About the Author

  Other books by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  Copyright Information

  About Harvest of Holidays

  Carson Connors’ final story.

  The Stonebrood Clan is back: Savage, bloodthirsty gargoyles brought back to life by the demon Azazel before he was destroyed by demon hunter Natalia Grey and her now-husband, Carson Connors.

  The gargoyles that killed her father…The gargoyles she swore to destroy.

  When the Clan lures the other hunters away and Tally is nearly killed in an assault the could only have been meant for her, she must face the possibility that the hunters have been betrayed by one of their own.

  With each passing holiday, the Clan grows bolder. The noose grows tighter. And the hunters become the hunted.

  Warning: This paranormal romance contains a sex scene that uses frank language and imagery.

  This is a novella length story (about 80 pages long), and is best read after the first two books in the series, to avoid spoilers.

  This is Book 2.1 in The Stonebrood Saga:

  Book 1.0: Carson’s Night

  Book 2.0: Beauty’s Beasts

  Book 2.1: Harvest of Holidays*

  Book 2.2: Unbearable*

  Book 3.0: Sabrina’s Clan

  [*A Stony Stories tale: Short stories featuring the characters and situations from the Stonebrood Saga]

  Fourth of July

  Ingong

  Mozart was playing at a volume that made the windows of the little house vibrate, but no one was listening to the majestic Fortieth Symphony. Early morning sunlight blasted through the windows. The harsh summer light illuminated the many empty and not-so-empty glasses sitting on every available horizontal surface.

  It also picked out the bodies.

  There were four of them. One lay face down on the sofa with his leg hanging over the edge of the cushions, the toe of his boot jammed into the shag rug.

  Another body rested approximately parallel with the sofa. She was curled up on her side. A cushion from the sofa was under her head and she snored softly. Auburn curls spilled over the cushion and onto the carpet in bubbling waves.

  The last two sleepers were under the dining table on the east side of the room. The table itself was littered with dirty plates, paper napkins, ashtrays, and more used glasses. There was also a collection of bottles. Wine, tequila, brandy, whiskey and more. A gaily colored plastic party cloth hung askew over the edge, partially covering the two bodies beneath.

  Carson Connors stood on the bottom step of the narrow and steep flight hugging the wall and surveyed the damage with a touch of awe. He didn’t remember the party being this boisterous but the evidence was there, disputing his memory.

  He took the last step down onto the shag carpet and winced at the impact. There was a reason his memories didn’t match up to the shambles he was looking at. He glanced at Jimmy, face down on the sofa. Jimmy had clapped him on the back of the shoulder around nine last night and waved a bottle of Jim Beam in front of him. “You need to celebrate your success, man.” His smile was bright beneath the dark moustache.

  “Not my success,” Carson had protested. “Tally is the gargoyle hunter. She’s the one that found Ingong. I was just clean-up crew.”

  Tally had lifted a hand in protest. “I’m not touching that stuff. I’m going to find something that doesn’t strip off my taste buds.” She had squeezed Carson’s hand as she left to find her own drink. There was plenty to drink and about fifteen people squeezed into the tiny living room who would do anything to find her something to her taste, because she was the hero of the hour.

  Jimmy cracked the seal, poured Carson a healthy slug, then things became a little blurred. He remembered Tally leading him upstairs but after that, nothing.

  He stepped over Donna’s comatose body and flipped up the lid on the record player and lifted the arm back onto its cradle, turning Mozart off in mid-sentence.

  The silence almost throbbed.

  Carson bent over carefully and looked under the table pushed up against the wall. From the bright red locks he identified Joy, which meant it was probably Connie under there with her.

  On the other side of the kitchen door, china clattered. Damian, most likely. He still liked to take care of Tally when he could. For a short moment Carson envied Damian and Nick their vampire status; hangovers were never an issue for them, nor was a lack of sleep.

  Someone thudded on the front door, making Carson wince. Before he could react further the thumping started again, insistent.

  “Alright, okay,” he muttered and glanced around. There had been at least two bongs being passed around last night, but neither of them was visible. He stepped over Donna again and opened the front door.

  Harsh sunlight hit him square in the eyes. He hissed and threw up his hand to shade them. “God above…” he muttered.

  “I don’t think He is listening, Mr. Connors,” came the reply. “Least ways, not to you.”

  He carefully looked down the three concrete steps, keeping his hand over his eyes. The woman standing there was well over two hundred pounds and all of her was squeezed into a bright pink terrycloth jogging suit, the type of outfit a lot of women were wearing these days.

  Velour, he’d heard Tally call it. Tally had one herself, but on her the dark green looked lush and enticing. On their neighbor, the fabric was stretched across enormous breasts and hips in a way that was gruesomely fascinating.

  “Hello, Mrs. Washinsky,” Carson said, keeping any hint of impatience out of his voice. “I’ve turned the music down.” The heat wasn’t doing his head any good at all. It felt like it was getting up around eighty degrees already. It was going to be a scorching day.

  “About time, too. It’s eight o’clock in the morning, Mr. Connors, and that rock and roll nonsense has been playing all night!”

  He stopped himself from pointing out the damned obvious, that it had been Mozart he had just halted mid-track. “I’m sorry if we disturbed you.” The words, the sociability, came automatically. People in his line of work needed to blend in, to look normal, even though normal was a long cry from the world they lived in. “We were celebrating. My wife got a promotion.” It wasn’t really a lie. If there had been a way to give Tally a promotion for bringing down Ingong, they would have slapped it on her, last night. “It might have got a bit out of hand…but it is the fourth, today.”

  Mrs. Washinsky huffed, her little brown eyes in the fat dough of her face squeezing almost closed with suspicion. “Are you celebrating Independence Day, too?”

  Carson held up his hand. “I promise, we’ll be nice and quiet for the rest of the day.”

  “Is my husband being a pain, Mrs. Washinsky?” Tally said from just behind him. Carson let out a mental sigh of relief. Mrs. Washinsky liked Tally. Everyone liked Tally. She drew admiration and affection like a magnet drew iron filings. It had always fascinated Carson the way she could walk into a room and without saying a word have people gravitate around her, but now he was just relieved because it took the burden of calming their neighbor away from him. He really wanted to go lie down again. For about a century. His head was splitting.

  Tally’s hand pressed on his shoulder and he made room for her on the step and glanced at her.

  She was wearing a long, flowing something or other that was made of some lightweight fly away material that looked like a million dollars on her. It was an icy green color that made t
he most of her eyes. Even after six years of marriage, just looking at her could make his heart slip a beat and give him that same socked-in-the-chest sensation he’d got the first time he saw her.

  Tally gave Mrs. Washinsky a big smile, her eyes glowing with warmth. “I’m afraid we’ve disturbed your morning. I’m so sorry. It was very inconsiderate of us.”

  Mrs. Washinsky tilted her head to look up at Tally. “Good morning, Mrs. Connors. I can see you most thoroughly celebrated your promotion last night.”

  Tally didn’t blink. “We did, indeed,” she said with a smile. “By the way, I have a basket of apples for you, straight off our crab apple tree. They’re the first of the season.”

  “And early, too,” Mrs. Washinsky agreed. “Really, that is very generous of you.”

  “I’ll bring them over as soon as I’m dressed,” Tally told her. “Perhaps you’ll excuse us? We need to eat breakfast. We’re both working today.”

  “You work too hard, dear,” Mrs. Washinsky said. “It’s not Christian to work on the Fourth of July.”

  “But who would serve you at the ice-cream parlor if we all got the day off? Besides, I’m glad of the extra money.” Tally was telling the truth. Money was always a concern and they were always scrambling to cover the bills.

  Mollified, Mrs. Washinsky stepped down off the bottom step. She glanced at Carson. “You really need to grow up, young man, and take care of your wife properly.” Then she waved goodbye and went back into her own little house, walking past the plastic wishing well in her front yard and a cement stork with its one wire leg buried in the earth next to the front step.

  Carson and Tally watched until she had closed her front door. Then Carson sighed and pulled Tally back inside and shut the door on the sun and the heat. “Thank you,” he said heartily and kissed her.

  Even though it was the morning after, she still tasted ambrosial and he let the kiss lengthen, taking his time, his body warming as she melted against him.

  Then his head throbbed once, a hard spike of pain. “Damn,” he murmured against Tally’s lips. “I need food or something.”

  “Try a sip of something,” Jimmy said from the sofa. He held up a fresh bottle of Jim Beam and wriggled it. His hair was tousled and spiky, his moustache in disarray and his eyes sleepy, but his smile was as warm as ever.

  Tally laughed. “That’s not a cure. It’s just putting off the pain.”

  “Anything is better than having my head split in two,” Carson told her. He made his way over to the sofa, carefully stepping over Donna again. She was still asleep. Then he flopped onto the cushions and took the bottle from Jimmy. “Cheers.” He drank.

  “I’m going to see about breakfast,” Tally murmured, heading for the swing door that divided the kitchen area from the front room.

  The door swung open before she reached it and Damian stepped through. He was carrying a big tray and steam lifted from it, along with delicious smells. “Beat you to it,” Damian told Tally. “There’s plenty for everyone. It sounds like they’ll need it.” He stood by the table. “Can you clear some space?”

  Tally quickly cleared off half the table, pushing most of the empty bottles to the other end and stacking empty glasses. “I didn’t know you were here,” she told Damian. “Did you stay all night, or come back?”

  “Stayed the night,” Damian said. “Nick thought it best that at least one alert person hang around.” He glanced at Carson and Jimmy where they sat on the sofa. “Nick went back to the lair to watch and make sure none of the clan circled back. He’ll be here shortly.”

  Jimmy blew out a heavy sigh. “They’d be stupid to go back there. We know where the nest is now.”

  Donna stretched hard and sat up, blinking and looking around.

  “Good morning,” Tally told her and held out a plate loaded with piping hot scrambled eggs, crumbled tacos and salsa. Donna’s face lit up and she took the plate eagerly.

  From past experience, Carson knew the salsa would be spicy hot. His mouth started watering and he handed the bottle back to Jimmy. “On second thoughts,” he said, “breakfast looks really good.”

  “Piker,” Jimmy replied complacently and swigged from the bottle.

  Tally looked at Damian. “Did Nick figure that Lirgon might head back just because we thought he wouldn’t dare?”

  Damian nodded, a small furrow between his brows, marring his olive features. “Safe nesting locations wouldn’t be easy to come by these days. The eastern seaboard is heavily populated. They could either spend all night hunting for food, or all night hunting for a safe nest for the next day.”

  “It’s been at least three days since they’ve eaten,” Tally murmured, frowning, and handed Carson a plate of the eggs and salsa.

  “Hey, no shop talk while we’re eating,” Carson complained.

  Damian grinned.

  “I would kill for coffee,” Donna said, in her husky, too-many-cigarettes voice. “I don’t suppose…?” She looked hopefully at Damian.

  He shook his head. “Not yet.” He held another loaded plate out to Jimmy, who shook his head and held up the bottle instead.

  A slender hand tapped on Damian’s ankle and he bent over and held the plate out. The hand took it and drew the plate back under the table.

  Tally held out a second plate down by her shin and another, bigger, hand took it and drew it back under the table.

  Knocking on the door made everyone turn their heads. They looked at each other.

  “Nick would use the back door,” Damian pointed out softly.

  “It’s Oscar!” came the call faintly through the door. “I have coffee!”

  “My hero!” Donna cried and scrambled to her feet. She threw the door open, and her arms around the blond man on the step as he held his arms up out of the way.

  “Wooah, careful!” he told her. “I figured you’d need the jolt.” He lifted the cardboard carton. “Fresh and hot from the deli on Fifth.”

  Donna stepped out of the way and Oscar moved into the room.

  Tally shut the front door, taking the dazzle away and letting Carson eat. “I’ll get cups,” Tally said.

  Damian caught her wrist. “You sit down and eat,” he said flatly. “I’ll get the cups.” He slid a plate of eggs in front of her.

  Meekly, she pulled one of the steel-framed chairs up to the table, and picked up the fork.

  Carson watched the little byplay, his attention pricking. He hadn’t heard Damian use that “I’m older than you, I know better,” tone with Tally for years and years. There had been a few break-outs of the parent syndrome in him just after Carson had married her. He and Nick had virtually raised her, after all, so Carson had expected the holier than thou attitude in the beginning. He had patiently worked to earn their trust. Tally loved them like big brothers and parents rolled into one, and he didn’t want to strain that relationship in any way. Slowly, the pair of them had tapered off their custodian attitudes. Carson had always figured that was because Damian had learned Carson could take care of her and had relaxed. Nick was never going to like him, but Carson was content to have earned the taller vampire’s respect.

  Now Damian was playing the grown-up card once more. Curious.

  The eggs were good enough to pull Carson’s attention back to the plate and he finished them off in three big scoops and manfully held back the belch that wanted to escape. “For a vampire, you’re an amazing cook,” he told Damian when the vampire returned from the kitchen with coffee mugs in his arms and hanging from his fingers.

  Oscar put the carton of coffee on the table with the spout hanging over the edge, grabbed a mug and poured. He handed Donna the first cup and kissed her cheek.

  “What would I do without you?” she told him and sipped, then sighed.

  There was a scrabbling sound from under the table and the two women emerged, crawling on their hands and knees between the ankles of everyone sitting or standing there. Joy, with the neon red hair, stood up and stretched, her hands in the small of her back.
“Any green tea?” she asked Damian. Next to him, she stood shorter than his shoulders.

  “In the pantry,” Tally told her.

  “Cool.” She headed for the kitchen.

  Connie put the two empty plates on the table and lined the forks and knives up together on top, then smiled broadly at Oscar as he handed her a cup of coffee. “You are a champion among men.”

  “Like you’d know,” Jimmy teased her.

  She stuck her tongue out at him and drank.

  “The kids okay?” Donna asked Oscar, her hand on his shoulder.

  “Juanita is watching them. They were in the pool when I left,” Oscar told her.

  “You’re wearing a suit,” she pointed out.

  The suit was a spiffy, wide-lapelled pinstripe and the pink shirt beneath had that expensive dull gleam that Carson knew would be silk or something like that. “He brought the coffee over as an apology,” he said. “He’s going into work.”

  “No!” Donna said, dismayed.

  Oscar shrugged. “Sorry, but one of my big clients called in a panic. He’s due in court after the holidays. I just have to go hold his hand for a while. Talk him through it.” He brushed curls away from Donna’s forehead. “Didn’t want to ruin your celebration last night.”

  “God, I don’t deserve you,” Donna said, her voice throatier than usual.

  “No, you don’t, but I happen to like a woman that shoots from the hip.” He looked around. “I’m going to take Donna home so she can be with the kids for the day.” Then he frowned. “Where’s Miguel?”

  “He cut out early,” Connie said. “He scored an eight hour shift at McDonald’s, and it’s double-time today. He couldn’t turn it down. His landlord is an unforgiving bastard.” She tossed her black hair over her shoulder. It was stippled and striped with light grey, almost white streaks, but her face was a thirty-year-old woman’s. She had told Carson once, when she was a long way from sober, that she had noticed the first streak in her hair not long after her first successful kill and every hunt after that added more. “But if I’m still around when it goes completely grey, it’ll be a miracle, so what the fuck, huh?” she had added with a disdainful shrug and knocked back more of the sour cider she had been drinking. “It’s not like I’m ever going to be a mother, like Donna, and have to worry about staying around long enough for them to get their driver’s licenses.”