“You couldn’t let me catch even a little break today?”
“Amie?” Her apartment door opened at the top of the stair, and Jo’s blonde head popped out. She shook her head with a grin upon finding Amie’s predicament. “Where have you been? I’ve been waiting twenty minutes. I can’t stay much longer today or James will come hunting.”
Amie groaned and clomped the rest of the way into her apartment. “I know, sorry, I got held up.”
“Obviously.” Jo shut the door behind them and watched Amie throw her mail onto the coffee table. “You should have let me know you might be late.”
Amie kicked off her Converse and wrung out her hair over the kitchen sink. “It’s not like I actually planned to be late, Jo.”
Jo sank down onto the well-worn sofa facing the kitchen with a frustrated sigh. “I just wish you could keep a cell phone without breaking it.”
Amie snorted. “Sure, I’ll try not breaking my cell, and you can try to not fuss over me like Mom.” By Mom, she meant Sandra Blackbriar, of course. After Amie’s parents’ untimely deaths, the twins’ parents had done a fair job of filling up their place in her life.
Jo began to push through the soggy mail with a wrinkle of her nose. “Did you swim in a sewer on your way home?”
Amie sniffed her shirt and grumbled. “Great, looks like I get to shower before touching anything else.”
“Not like I smell any better after mucking mini-stalls,” Jo quipped, referring to the mini-horse ranch she and her long-term partner James ran. Today, Jo’s turquoise leather boots were only muddy from the rain.
Amie gathered her mess of papers piled up on one end of the coffee table and sank onto the vacant space. More manuscript notes from Allison’s last read-through. Apparently, there wasn’t enough sex in her story, not enough to make up for her recent drop in sales, according to her agent.
Jo continued to sort through Amie’s stack of bills while sneaking surreptitious glances. “Want to talk about it?”
Amie threw her papers to the ground and rubbed her forehead. “It’s nothing, just ran into some alpha-hole on the way home.”
Jo arched an eyebrow as she leaned forward. “So that’s the real reason you were late, huh? How hot on a scale of one to ten?”
Amie pulled her hand away and scowled at the stains. “I feel so gross…” She wiped her hand on her soaked jeans and shrugged. “And I’m not sexist enough to rate my men.”
“Come on, Amie. You know I’m already spoken for. I need to get my kicks where I still can.”
Amie eyed her and contemplated how much to reveal about her new personal villain. “It’s not a big deal, seriously. I rammed into him and was trying to rescue my mail from the puddles…”
“And?” Jo waved her fingers.
“And he sort of saved my life before a car could take me out.”
“Excuse me?” Jo’s playful tone turned sharp in an instant. Ever since Amie’s parents had passed, the twins had maintained constant vigilance over her life. Even now, not a day went by she didn’t see at least one of them or Jo’s boyfriend.
Amie rushed on. “A car almost plowed into me, but it was on Main Street and going maybe fifteen, okay?”
Jo took in her overall appearance with concern. “You fell on the stairs earlier, too. I was such a bitch to you for being late. I’m so sorry, Amie. I’ve been so busy with work and planning Faye’s coming-home party, but I should have noticed.”
Amie shrugged. “Like I said, it’s not a big deal.” She paused, biting a dirty nail, then added, “He was British, you know.”
Jo perked up. “British? Well, I bet that made your day.”
“Nah, they don’t really do it for me.”
“Ha! Liar. You own every freaking BBC costume drama ever made.”
Amie shifted and winced as she accidentally brushed a fresh bruise. “Just for inspiration, not ’cause I’m, like, a lonely and desperate woman or anything.”
Jo sat back with a fond smile on her face and held up her watch arm. She had learned ages ago not to bring her cell phone within grabbing distance. Her forehead creased with worry lines. “Crap, now I’m late. I have a million errands left to run before the party.”
Amie stood and held up her hands. “What can I say, I’m a bad influence.”
“Yeah, I’m totally going to blame this on you when James asks. Should I tell him about your encounter with Mr. Rochester?”
“Oh, for the love of God, let it go.”
Jo laughed and spared a final glance for Amie’s soggy mail before picking up her keys and walking to the front door. “You will be at the party on time tonight? Faye’s plane comes in at five. That should give us a full extra hour.”
“Naturally, knowing Faye,” Amie murmured, then added, “I’ll be there, six o’clock sharp, cross my heart and hope to die.”
Jo aimed an imaginary pistol at her and fired. “You better be. Don’t make me sic my sister on you.”
Amie held up her hands and laughed. “I wouldn’t dream of missing her fake surprise when she finds her surprise party.”
Jo nodded with a small smile and, satisfied, left Amie to return to her full life.
Amie sank against the cool wood of her door and pushed her messy curls out of her face as she surveyed her empty apartment. Living alone wasn’t so bad most days. The twins and James were constant visitors, and Amie was used to the silence they left behind. Some days, though, like today, her parents’ ghosts seemed to haunt every whispering shadow. She reached into her pocket and pulled her necklace free, rubbing a thumb over the odd symbol.
A gold sun encased a smaller silver moon, etched in curling runes, and at the center lay a green stone she did not recognize, forming the image that haunted her dreams.
No use dwelling on the past, she thought with a shove off the door.
“Shower first,” she said aloud and then paused before her coffee table. Jo had sorted her soggy mail to dry over outdated copies of Faerie Magazine. Amie flew to the table in panic, removing her old collection. “Dang it, Joey!” she cursed and winced at the fresh stains on several covers. Everyone knew she was a major nerd for all things fantastical, an obsession begun by her father’s whimsical tales of Wenderdowne.
She reached to pick up the last letter and dropped the envelope with a hiss as soon as her fingers met parchment. Sharp tingles zapped up her fingertips, like all the times she got too close to computers or cell phones. Amie hesitated and steeled her nerve before snatching up the envelope again.
The parchment was thick in texture, the sort of paper Amie loved to just feel. She had only ever received one such letter before in her life, the day of her parents’ funeral. When she turned it over, the same symbol on her father’s necklace stared back at her. The flap opened easily as she pulled it free of the wax seal with trembling hands.
All was forgotten as her eyes swept over the enclosed letter and its contents.
“My dearest Jessamiene,
It grieves me that so much time has passed since our last correspondence. Circumstances have prevented me from writing sooner, and I am afraid will delay your response. Forgive me, dear one, as you can forgive a poor old fool. When I heard nothing in return of my last letter I thought it perhaps best you did not reply. In the beginning I believed I was obeying your father’s wishes, to keep you closeted in the dark. I know now this is folly.
To better understand, I ask you to come to my country estate, following the instructions and tickets I have included in this letter.
Travel safely, dear one. Tell no one of your plans.
Love,
Uncle Henry”
Letting the parchment slip from her fingers and into her lap, Amie stared at the phosphorescent Christmas lights on the wall. A string of expletives raced through her mind as her mouth worked soundlessly. Like a steady drumbeat, a familiar fury built hot behind her eyes, sent fresh waves of energy to her hands. Her stomach grumbled, and the weight of her upcoming deadline pressed on her mind.
This letter was the last thing she wanted to read.
“Too damn hot in here.” Amie stood and pressed a hand to her forehead. The letter remained clenched in her other fist. She’d spent many years building up protective walls against the painful memories. Sometimes it was almost too easy to forget the past when she wanted.
Until Uncle Henry’s letter, Amie had done a fairly good job of shutting out the fact she had never truly gotten over her parents’ deaths. Steeling herself against the tears forming behind her eyelids, she folded and tucked the paper into her pocket.
The last time one of Uncle Henry’s letters had found its way to her, Amie had been furious and unwilling to accept his offer. Ten years had served to temper her bitterness.
“Does he think I don’t have a life? I can’t just run off,” she mumbled under her breath and peeked in the envelope to find plane and train tickets.
Something about the timing of this letter niggled at the back of her mind and recalled buried memories from her parents’ funeral. What could possibly prompt the old man to try and contact her again, never mind the fact he’d clearly hired someone to find her?
She glanced up at the old wind-up clock on her living room wall and grimaced. Twenty minutes’ stewing wasn’t going to help her meet her deadline. Besides, if she didn’t shower and get ready for Faye’s party now, she’d lose track of time and forget. There would be time to think about how she was going to respond later.
Uncle Henry could wait another day. She had spent too long rebuilding her identity, years her last living blood relative hadn’t attempted to include himself in.
Get Silver Hollow here
It’s hard to believe I started writing Vynasha’s story ten years ago. As the tale grew and evolved over the years, there were many moments of writerly struggles. There were days when I thought I wouldn’t finish the series and others when the characters lived and breathed with me. It’s been a labor of love and an amazing growing experience and I couldn’t have made it without the support of friends, family, and my fellow fantasy fans.
Specifically, I owe the most to my critique partner and bestie Melissa Wright. Thank you for endless buckets of encouragement, for reaffirming that I’m not crazy, and for believing in me. To Allison Taylor, my first editor and sister, I would have given up on Vynasha’s story years ago if it hadn’t been for you. To my husband, thank you for allowing me to disappear into “my world” on a nightly basis. A thousand thanks to Najla Qamber for covering the series and inviting me to join her escapades through Gotham. And to Champagne Formats, thank you for sticking by my side through this wild ride. I solemnly swear to never wait years between sequels again.
I started writing by pounding away on my grandpa’s antique typewriter. Today I live out our dream by giving this book to you. If you had fun reading Wylder Tales, please show your support through reviews and posts. You can learn more about the world of Wylder Tales and gain access to fun extras at this website: wyldertales.wordpress.com.
Thank you for supporting me through this epic journey, fantasy avengers. See y’all at the Borderlands!
Also by Jennifer Silverwood
Heaven’s Edge Novellas
Qeya
Ohre
Tamn
Wylder Tales
Craving Beauty (Vol. 1)
Wolfsbane’s Daughter (a novella)
Scarred Beauty (Vol. 2)
Bound Beauty (Vol. 3)
The Borderlands Saga
Silver Hollow
Blackbriar Cove (coming 2019)
Seven Deadly Sins
Angel Blue
Devil Red (coming 2019)
Standalone Contemporary Romance
Stay: A Love Story
She Walks in Moonlight: A Second Chances Romance
Jennifer Silverwood was raised deep in the heart of Texas and has been spinning yarns a mile high since childhood. In her spare time she reads and writes and tries to sustain her wanderlust, whether it’s the Carpathian Mountains in Transylvania, the highlands of Ecuador or a road trip to the next town. Always on the lookout for her next adventure, in print or reality, she dreams of one day proving to the masses that everything really is better in Texas. She is the author of the Heaven’s Edge series, Stay and Silver Hollow.
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