Misfit Fortune

by Stephanie Foxe

  Shane shook his head but had a smile on his face now. “They’re not going to know what hit them.”

  She grinned unapologetically. “That’s the idea.”

  “I take it back, Amber isn’t lucky to have you, she’s incredibly lucky.”

  “As I said, darn right she is.” The nervous energy faded a little as they got to work making lists and plans. Working behind the scenes was where Genevieve shined, and she knew it. Amber was the brave one, and she was their leader. As her beta, Genevieve could use her cunning to give Amber the edge she needed over those born alphas. They wouldn’t go into this unprepared.

  Chapter 3

  Tommy

  If he hadn’t been a werewolf, Tommy would have been cold. As it was, the afternoon sun beating down on his back was enough to make him sweat.

  His muscles burned as he completed his fifth set of pushups. Deward had decided to combine studying with exercise and, possibly, a murder attempt. At least that’s how it was starting to feel. The troll seemed particularly determined to make him stronger and faster than ever. If it were anyone else, Tommy would think they were worried about some kind of imminent attack.

  “Pause,” Deward said, stopping his own set of pushups and grabbing the flashcards.

  He held them up, giving Tommy only three seconds to blurt out the right answer before he’d set it in the ’needs work’ pile. Every card in that pile meant another set of some kind of exercise. Tommy was highly motivated to get the answers right.

  His GED test was in a few weeks and he’d thought he was ready but Deward was still pushing him. Deep down, he was thankful. Very, very deep down.

  Deward put the final card in the ‘known’ pile and crossed his arms. “You’re still weak in history.”

  “That’s because it’s boring,” Tommy said, still panting slightly. “What’s next?”

  Deward’s green face twisted in shock and dismay. “No area of learning and knowledge can be described as boring. You should look for what interests you within the subject. History is one of the most important––”

  “Dude, calm down, I know. We’ve been over this before.”

  Deward scoffed and turned away, smoothing down his bright blue hair which was sticking up because of the vigorous exercise. “Obviously the lesson hasn’t settled in.”

  Tommy stood, stretching his sore muscles. To his eyes the demon mark Evangeline had given him stood out in sharp contrast to his brown skin. No one else could see it though. He rubbed it absently. It didn’t quite ache, but he could always feel it. Amber did the same thing, always looking guilty when she realized what she was doing. It bothered Ceri but he understood the impulse. It wasn’t about the demon, really, it was just that it was there, all the time, like an itch.

  “Does it hurt?” Deward asked curiously. One of the things Tommy liked about the troll was that he was the least judgmental person he’d ever met. Deward was driven by curiosity, not by a need to feel morally superior. Unless you were factually wrong, of course. Or neglected your education.

  “No,” he said, pressing his fingers into the mark again. “I’m just always aware of it. It was worse when it was fresh, but it’s getting less…annoying.”

  “I’ve been reading up on demon marks, but have found it difficult to separate fact from fiction.”

  “I’m sure most people with a demon mark don’t want to talk about it. It’s not entirely legal, and it comes with a big stigma.”

  Deward nodded, then rubbed at the base of a tusk with a grimace.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Growing pains,” Deward grumbled. “My tusks will shed soon and the new ones will come in. I will become a man.”

  “Oh, that’s kind of cool. I didn’t realize they did that,” Tommy said, surprised.

  “We don’t speak of it to outsiders often. It’s a sacred time.”

  “Is it okay to tell me then?”

  Deward slapped a strong hand on his shoulder. “You are my brother now. Of course it is okay.”

  Tommy still wasn’t sure exactly what that meant and he had been hesitant to ask for some reason. “About that…”

  Ceri walked out just then, interrupting the conversation.

  Deward nodded to the witch in greeting. “Ceridwen, how are you?”

  She still had dark circles under her eyes, showing she hadn’t been sleeping, and had a scowl on her face.

  “I have to go deal with…well, you know,” she said, waving her hand at them.

  “Do you need help?” Tommy asked, crossing his arms. He didn’t like her dealing with it alone but she kept insisting on it.

  “No, I’ll be fine. It’s easier when it’s just me.” She sighed at his expression, her stance softening slightly. “I really will be fine. It’s not dangerous.”

  “You keep saying that, but I don’t buy it,” Tommy muttered.

  “I can take care of myself,” Ceri said with a bemused smile.

  “The point of a pack is that you don’t have to. Aren’t you always saying it’s okay to accept help?”

  “I have to stop giving you advice you can use against me,” she said with a laugh, already walking away. “Maybe next time. It really is easier with just me though. I promise.”

  He watched her go with a sigh.

  Deward stepped up beside him. “What is she doing that is so dangerous?”

  Tommy stared across the yard at the old mansion. Grass wouldn’t grow around it anymore. The now-rotting garden was brown and dry despite the recent rain. “Making sure Thallan doesn’t kill himself.”

  “Ah,” Deward said, his jaw clenching in anger. He wasn’t any more fond of the crazy old elf than Tommy was.

  Tommy turned his back on the shrine to Thallan’s mental instability and cracked his knuckles. “Let’s get back to work.”

  Chapter 4

  Ceri

  The smell of alcohol and vomit hit Ceri as soon as she pushed open the front door. Thallan hadn’t even bothered to fully shut it whenever he last stumbled back in.

  She surveyed the entry way. It had never been clean but this was beyond even that. This was disgusting. He’d trashed half the mansion after his dead wife, Illya, had kicked him out of the guest house, and now he seemed determined to make the biggest mess possible. Especially on days when his therapist was supposed to show up.

  They’d gone through five. Only one had attempted more than one appointment. Considering Thallan had tried to set that one on fire, she couldn’t blame them for quitting.

  The agency she was working with insisted they had found the perfect fit for him this time. Ceri was here to make sure Thallan was at least awake and not covered in his own vomit when the therapist showed up.

  Some days she thought she might as well just let the elf give up and die. He seemed determined to do so after all, but…between Illya and her own conscience, she just couldn’t let the idiotic elf hurt himself like this without at least trying to help.

  She stepped over some vomit that had been smeared across the wooden floor. It was red, which had been worrying the first time she saw it. Now she knew that just meant he’d been out getting half-priced watermelon margaritas. The sickly sweet smell of it almost made her gag.

  There were two spots in the house Thallan seemed to prefer passing out in. The first was in the tower, but based on the damage she was seeing, she doubted he’d made it that far. She headed past the study and library to the master suite.

  The bedroom was shrouded in darkness. She flung open the curtains, letting the sunlight pour in. Thallan’s bare foot protruded over the threshold to the bathroom.

  She sighed. If he was naked again, she was just leaving.

  Bracing herself for the worst, she walked over and looked in the bathroom. He’d managed to get his shirt off, but his pants were still in place. Soaked with piss, but at least his…bits…were hidden.

  Despite only being forced to see that once, the image was forever burned into her brain. It would probably show up in her nightma
res too if she ever managed to sleep again. Even curling up in bed with Derek or Amber wasn’t doing the trick anymore. She’d have to resort to a sleeping potion soon, but she hated how foggy they made her feel when she woke up.

  And how they could leave you trapped in nightmares until they wore off.

  Grabbing the rubber band off her wrist, she tied her mess of curls into a bun on the top of her head. Hands on her hips, she went through the spells she’d need.

  First things first, something for the smell. She pulled the sage stick out of her bag and lit it. After one quick wave around the door frame, she set it on the edge of the vanity where it could continue cleansing the air.

  Stepping around the unconscious elf, she hurried over to the bathtub and turned on the water, plugging the drain. Magic was easier when you used the resources around you.

  She placed her palms together and chanted quietly in Latin, “Aer et aqua. Spiritus et vita. Hac tum praetoria nave emundate.”

  The water lifted from the tub and arced through the air before crashing into Thallan. He slid and rolled, slamming into the wall. The impact jarred him awake. Icy water rushed around him in a spiral, stripping away the filth.

  “Wha…the…f…”

  She hit him with a breath freshening spell, which had the added bonus of momentarily shutting him up. The sobering spell hit him even harder and he groaned, holding his head in his hands.

  “I see you’ve been at happy hour again.”

  Peeking from under his arms, he scowled at her. “Nothing happy about it. The drinks are terrible.”

  “I’m sure it’s truly terrible for you. Must be why you drink so many of them.”

  Thallan rolled up to his knees, glaring at her all the while. “I don’t need your judgment. You’re just their pet now. It’s pathetic.”

  Ceri laughed aloud, startling herself and Thallan. It was ridiculous to hear him calling her pathetic when he had been laying in his own piss and vomit just a few minutes before. “Yeah, I’m the pathetic one. Get up and change clothes.”

  Thallan pushed up to his feet and half-stomped, half-limped toward his massive closet. There was nothing to distinguish the dirty piles that littered the floor of the walk in from the clean ones, but he seemed to know which to grab from. Or didn’t care if the clothes were clean.

  She sent a freshening spell at the shirt he picked up, just in case.

  “Which method of harassment have you chosen for today? A sniveling psychotherapist? An idiotic, crackpot psychic?” Thallan yanked the silky black shirt on over his head without trying to unbutton it first. By the time he had it pulled down, his fine, white-blond hair hung in tangled, wet strands that stuck to his jaw. The twisted scar that cut through his patrician features reddened as a flush spread across his face from the exertion.

  Ceri rolled her eyes. “At this point, I hope they just send someone who can shake some sense into you.”

  The doorbell rang discordantly through the house and she flinched. It had not sounded like that last time it rang. Somehow, Thallan had managed to break that too.

  “I’m not answering it,” Thallan growled as he brushed past her. “Tell whoever it is to go away and leave me alone.”

  Ignoring his whining, she headed toward the front of the house. As she stepped around the red vomit stain, she hoped the new therapist had a strong stomach.

  “The things I do in the name of compassion,” she muttered to herself with a sigh. She knew why she kept trying to save Thallan though. It was the only thing keeping her from collapsing. Every time she looked at him laying on the floor it reminded her to not give up. Gallaghers didn’t crumble.

  Steeling herself for another disaster, she opened the door, then froze.

  The person she was seeing standing in front of her didn’t make sense. This guy…there was no way he was a therapist. The chances were much higher that he was part of a motorcycle gang and was here to rob them.

  “Are you…”

  “Dr. Gunner Stone,” he rumbled, his voice a deep bass, as he extended a scarred hand for her to shake.

  She shook it absently. Dr. Gunner Stone was at least fifty years old but he looked like he’d lived a dozen lives in that time. Deep frown lines were carved into his tanned face. Thick, grey stubble grew on a boxy jaw. A leather vest covered in patches covered a sleeveless button up shirt, leaving his arms bare. His terrifyingly muscular arms.

  This guy really could shake some sense into Thallan. Literally. She wanted to watch if he did.

  “Sorry, come in,” she said, stepping back and pulling the door open. Sunlight illuminated the dust in the entryway.

  “Yes, I am a therapist.” Dr. Stone said, walking further inside and looking around with a neutral expression. That was a feat in and of itself. It was hard to keep a straight face while looking at…all this.

  “Oh, no, sorry, I believed you,” Ceri said, a blush creeping up her neck. It must have been obvious by her expression how taken aback she was.

  Dr. Stone waved away her explanation. “I don’t wear suits and walk around looking like a prissy quack. Throws people off.”

  “Right. Well, um, would you like me to take you to Thallan?” she asked, feeling very thrown off indeed.

  “I’ll find him,” Dr. Stone said, cracking his knuckles. He paused, humming curiously. A small wobbly, ball of light bloomed in front of him. He dipped his hand into and pulled out a thick card about the size of his palm.

  She felt the hum of magic in the air and a wave of it passed through her. It felt…interested. “What was that?”

  Dr. Stone extended a thick card toward her. The back was dark blue with a simple, symmetrical swirl in silver. “This is yours.”

  “What?” She stared at it, unwilling to touch anything magical when she had no clue what it was or why it was being given to her.

  “The tarot card. It’s yours,” he said with a shrug. “I use them for my work, but every now and then I run across someone that needs to know something, and this one showed up for you.”

  “No offense, but tarot just really isn’t my thing,” Ceri said taking a step back and raising her hands. All fortune telling was complete crap. Tarot was no exception. She preferred real, solid magic. The card wiggled in his grip like it was trying to get to her.

  “Well, you’re going to have to take this one. If you don’t, it’s just going to follow you. They’re very stubborn.”

  “You’re talking about it like it’s alive or something,” she said with a nervous laugh.

  He nodded thoughtfully. “They might be.”

  “Look, I really don’t––”

  There was a loud crash and the smell of smoke blew down the hall toward them.

  Dr. Stone let the card go and it zoomed at her, hovering eagerly right in front of her face.

  “I’ll go deal with this nutcase. Good luck, and a bit of advice, don’t avoid it too long or it will make itself real annoying.”

  With that, the doctor just walked off.

  Ceri glared at the card jiggling in front of her and batted at it. It tried to grab her hand and she stumbled back with a shriek. “No! Bad tarot card!”

  The corners of the card drooped as if she’d hurt it’s feelings. The manipulation almost worked, but instead of falling for it, she turned and ran.

  Sometimes it was simply the best course of action.

  Chapter 5

  Amber

  Amber stood next to Tommy at the window, watching the pixies intently. After the battle –– which Woggy had decisively won –– they had settled into a truce. It was tentative at first, but lately they’d been interacting a lot more.

  The other pixies couldn’t quite understand why Woggy couldn’t fly. They’d look at his back and inspect the nubs where his wings used to be. It clearly disturbed them.

  One of the pixies, who Amber was fairly certain was a girl, had tried tying two leaves to his back. Woggy had tested the contraption valiantly by jumping off the porch banister…and falling straight t
o the ground.

  She was glad they could let Woggy outside without having to worry about him constantly though. Birds and other predators were still a concern, but since he hung out with the swarm, he was relatively safe. The swarm’s leader seemed especially protective of him. Ceri said it was because he owed Woggy his life after Woggy had spared him in the battle.

  Woggy had a group of pixies around him right now. He signed food and they all imitated the movement.

  “Is he still trying to teach them sign language?” Amber asked.

  “Yeah, and they seem to be making up their own words now. That’s one of the cool things about sign language, it evolves based on the culture of the people using it. They’ve all given each other names and I think they are insulting each other as well.”

  Amber laughed. “Insults, huh?”

  Tommy nodded solemnly. “My best translation of their most dire insult is fruit sniffer.”

  “Ooooh, that’s harsh.”

  “They really hate fruit.”

  “I’ve noticed. It’s the only thing Woggy won’t try to steal and eat.” Amber’s nose twitched at an acrid scent. “Is something burning?”

  “Crap!” Tommy turned and sprinted back into the kitchen, muttering something about his onions.

  “I chopped those carefully, you better not have wasted them!” she shouted after him.

  Recently, she’d started helping him when he cooked, but he’d only let her do so much before he shooed her out of his kitchen. That didn’t bother her in the least. Cooking was not one of her strengths.

  Besides, she was just glad Tommy didn’t cower or hesitate anymore. It was satisfying to see that she hadn’t completely screwed up at least one of her pack members. Genevieve was still a little jumpy around her when she was shifted after the sorcerer had mind-controlled her. And Ceri…well, she was just in pain.