Christmas After Dark: A Holiday Paranormal Romance Anthology

by Abigail Owen

  Well, it wasn't like that hadn't happened before. When she was in the middle of a creative burst, sleep, food, and sometimes even oxygen seemed unnecessary.

  She made her way carefully to the bathroom, but it wasn't a problem because she’d fixed the dimensions of the room and placement of the furniture and doors in her mind earlier when she’d taken a brief break to use the restroom, splash water on her face, and try to shake out her cramped hand.

  By the time she showered and was ready to face the day, she came out of the bathroom to a delicious scent of breakfast and coffee, and she followed her nose toward it. Someone had brought a cart and left it just inside the studio door. She appreciated the thought, and especially appreciated that they hadn't put it inside the bedroom door. She wasn't entirely sure how real palace servants acted, but the ones on TV and in books were always scurrying around, going in places where nobody wanted them to go. She hated the idea of people she couldn’t see popping in uninvited to see her. For now, though, she just felt gratitude… and hunger.

  "This is Atlantis, my friend. We have superior Atlantean coffee beans," she mumbled, carefully pouring herself a cup.

  She’d just taken her first delicious sip of heavenly goodness, otherwise known as caffeine, when she heard someone walk into the room.

  "Are you going to keep talking to yourself, or can anyone join in the conversation?" The voice was female, one she hadn't heard before, and sarcastic as hell. Lyric was definitely not in the mood for snark before breakfast.

  "I don't know," she said mildly. "I usually find that at least if I'm talking to myself, someone intelligent is listening."

  There was a long moment of silence, and then the woman started laughing. "Well, you’re not at all a meek little land mouse that Dare brought home to play with, are you?"

  "I'm not a meek anything. Coffee?"

  "I'd love some. Lots of sugar."

  Lyric pointed toward the cart, not really wanting this rude stranger to watch her fumble around finding the sugar. "If you need so much sweetening-up, I'm sure you can do it yourself."

  She heard the small clink of the spoon in the sugar bowl and then the sound of stirring. The woman dropped the spoon carelessly on the tray, and then silently sipped her coffee, giving Lyric time to form an impression.

  The woman smelled like leather, oddly enough. Then she moved, and Lyric heard the slight whoosh—the rubbing noise of leather pants. Yikes. A badass, or so the woman wanted everyone to think.

  Lyric rolled her eyes.

  "I'm April. And you’re Lyric Fielding. I didn't realize blind people rolled their eyes. It seems sort of ridiculous."

  Wow. This woman was going for the jugular. And Lyric had no idea why, but in spite of not having had her first cup of coffee yet, the one thing she did know was that she wasn't going to let April No-Last-Name get to her.

  "As delightful as it is to hear your observations on what blind people should and should not do, perhaps you’d like to get to the reason for this visit?"

  April walked a few steps in a direction that Lyric definitely did not want her to walk.

  "Stop," she told the woman sharply. “I don't share my work when it’s in progress, and I expect you to have the courtesy to respect my wishes."

  There was another small silence, but then April’s footsteps approached Lyric again.

  "Fair enough, mouse," she said. "So why are you here?"

  Lyric was taken aback at the woman's bluntness, and more than a little ticked off at her clumsy attempt at interrogation. "Well, I'd be happy to explain that to you, about ten minutes after it's none-of-your-damn-business o'clock."

  "Ouch. Well, I was headed to breakfast, and I happened to walk by the room you're using as a studio," April said blandly, lying through her teeth.

  "Well, that's interesting,” Lyric shot back.” “Because to my knowledge this room is on the corner of the east wing, so there's no reason why you would just happen to be walking by it unless you were headed here on purpose."

  "Touché. Is that bacon?"

  "It smells like bacon, but how would I know? Maybe it's whatever passes for bacon from some weird Atlantean pig."

  April laughed, and Lyric had the feeling she'd surprised it out of the woman. The manners that Aunt Jean had pounded into her over the years raised their ugly head, though, and Lyric sighed.

  "Would you like some of my breakfast?"

  "I know you just said that so I'd say no, but I’m going to say yes. We should have a little chat," April said. "I'll pull up some chairs."

  By the time they finished eating a truly magnificent breakfast, Lyric was no closer to understanding why April had come to visit her. Finally, she put down her fork and decided just to get to the point.

  "So why are you here? It's not just to share a random breakfast with a random visitor. So what is it?"

  April made a little snorting noise. "I just wanted to get a look at you, all right? I wanted to see what Dare was bringing home these days. When he was with me, I thought he had a type. We sailed together, we smuggled together, we slept together. Life was an adventure every day of the week. But you. You I don't get."

  Lyric could feel the steam building up in her head, ready to pour out her ears, but she stayed outwardly nonchalant. "If it was all that wonderful, why aren't you sailing with him now?"

  "Oh we ran our course a few years back. Gods, I guess five years back now. But I'm in the mood for a little action. I thought I'd look him up."

  Lyric poured herself another cup of coffee in silence, and then she smiled what Meredith called her sharkiest smile. "You can try."

  It was a challenge, and they both knew it. She might not be a pirate, but she was sure as hell able to cross swords with this woman.

  April laughed. "Unfortunately, I think I'm going to like you in spite of myself. Maybe I do see what Dare sees in you."

  "I'm so relieved," Lyric drawled.

  April shoved back her chair. "Well, when is he getting back? What did Poseidon say?"

  The way she posed the question indicated that she expected Lyric to have the answer. Lyric suddenly realized, with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, that if she’d really meant anything to Dare, he would've told her about something so important as going in front of the— and she couldn't even believe she was going to think this—sea god.

  Boy, times had changed.

  She put down her cup and stood, too. "I'm sure he'll be back when he's done. Shall I tell him you stopped by?"

  "No need. I don't have time to wait around until he gets finished with whatever he's doing with you, no offense."

  Lyric narrowed her eyes. "I’ve found that usually when people say 'no offense,' they are saying something that is in fact designed to cause offense."

  There was a silence, and then April made that small snorting noise again. "That was me shrugging. I just realized you couldn't see it, so I'm narrating. Sure, tell Dare I stopped by. Tell him it's his loss, and I'm going to join Denal in this new elite fighting team he’s starting. So maybe I'll see him around, and maybe I won't."

  "Elite fighting team?"

  She could hear April heading for the door, but the footsteps stopped at her question. "Yeah. I'm going to be the first-ever of Poseidon's warriors to be female in the more than eleven thousand years since Poseidon first swore them into service."

  Pride and something else—trepidation, perhaps?—rang in April's voice. In spite of herself, Lyric kind of wanted to wish her well. After all, that was one hell of a glass ceiling. eleven thousand freaking years.

  "Good luck," she said impulsively.

  "You really mean that, don't you?"

  "Life is too short to say things you don't mean, don't you agree?"

  April said nothing for a moment, but Lyric heard no footsteps to indicate she’d left yet, either. Finally, the woman replied. "Thanks. I hope I'm not going to need luck, but thank you anyway. You’re more than I expected. I’d wish you luck, too, with Dare, but I'm not sure I’d really
mean it. So instead, I'll just say see you around. And hey— tell Dare that I'm rooting for him. I know he feels like he's not whole on his ship without Seranth, because she's part of him, the ship, and even part of the sea itself. But he’d be bored to death on land. He can't give up the sea—he wouldn't. Not for anything—or anyone."

  Lyric stood there, clenching her shaking hands into fists, for a long time after the sound of April’s footsteps had faded.

  Well. There was her answer. Even if Dare could love her, she’d bore him to death. So this little interlude in Atlantis meant nothing. Nothing would change between them. She’d continue to only see him a few times a year, until he ended up with someone like April.

  What else was there for them? It wasn’t like Lyric could become a pirate, even if she wanted to. Enough, already. She had work to do, and now she had an entire palette of new and unresolved emotions to use in the piece.

  She walked over to her canvas and reached for the black paint.

  10

  The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two—and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves.

  Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face.

  -- The Gift of the Magi, O. Henry (1917)

  Dare stood on the deck of the Luna, her bow pointed into the wind. He'd been sailing for hours, with a skeleton crew, calling out to Poseidon.

  The thing about gods, however, was that they showed up when they felt like it. They answered your call if they felt like it, and sometimes not at all. Apparently, this was one of the times that Poseidon didn't feel like answering.

  He'd sailed through the sunrise, even though he wanted with every fiber of his being to head back to port, head back to the palace, and climb into bed with Lyric. Or, if she were still painting, to sit quietly across the room. Not disturbing her, just watching her. Not intruding, just being part of her world.

  But she was probably asleep, exhausted from the hurricane of painting she’d been so compelled to do. And he still had a goal to accomplish out here.

  "Poseidon," he shouted. "Get your capricious sea god ass over here and talk to me about Seranth right now."

  Behind him, Smitty gasped. “Captain! You’re gonna get us killed. Don’t you know better than to challenge the gods?”

  Smitty wasn’t even Atlantean, but like all other sailors, he had a healthy respect for gods, superstitions, and prevailing winds.

  "No, he’ll just smite me, if he’s going to do any smiting. He’s pretty fair, as gods go.”

  I AM GLAD TO HEAR YOU ESTEEM ME SO GREATLY. YOU KNOW HOW MUCH YOUR GOOD OPINION MEANS TO ME.

  Poseidon's thundering voice made the mockery sound like cannon fire.

  Dare realized he was in a lot of trouble.

  “I need Seranth,” he shouted up at the giant face floating in the sky above him. “You gave me Luna; now give me the sea spirit. You know I’m only half as fast and half as good without her, and what I do, I do for you and for the benefit of Atlantis."

  WHAT YOU DO, YOU DO FOR YOURSELF. ANY EXTRA BENEFIT IS PROBABLY ACCIDENTAL AND CERTAINLY INCIDENTAL.

  Behind Dare, Smitty dropped to the deck and covered his head with his hands. “Don’t hurt me.”

  Dare gritted his teeth. “Poseidon. I ask this boon. Return Luna to me and Seranth to Luna. At least grant me that. You know she belongs with this ship—she’s part of it. This must be hurting her even more than it hurts me, and I know that’s not what you intended.”

  DO NOT PRESUME TO TELL ME WHAT I INTEND, PIRATE. YOU WILL ONLY ANGER ME, AND YOU WILL ALWAYS BE WRONG.

  TAKE THE SHIP. YOU PAID FOR IT IN SWEAT, BLOOD, AND GOLD. I WILL NOT GIVE YOU THE SEA SPIRIT, HOWEVER. YOU DO NOT DESERVE HER.

  Dare roared out his frustration and then smashed his fists down on the railing. “Without her, the ship alone is only half of my heart!,” he shouted.

  PERHAPS YOU LOOK FOR YOUR HEART IN THE WRONG PLACE.

  And then Poseidon vanished.

  Dare turned the ship around, the sea god’s words ringing in his ears and in his mind. When he reached Atlantis, he headed straight for the tavern.

  It was mid-afternoon by the time the tavern owner’d had enough and thrown him out. Dare knew it had been a close call about half a bottle of whiskey earlier, when he’d broken that chair over somebody’s head, but it was a hangout for lowlifes, after all, and he fit the bill.

  He’d spent enough of his gold there over the years that it took more than a broken chair—or a broken head—to get him kicked out.

  “And it’s a broken heart that sent me here,” he said, stumbling down the path toward the palace, full of expensive whiskey and expansive melodrama. Maybe a little self pity thrown in for good measure.

  Without Seranth, he and Luna were just another pirate and ship, no longer the best on the high sea. Looking for his heart in the wrong place…

  Without Lyric, what does it matter?

  The thought knocked him sideways, and he stumbled and almost fell. Well, maybe it was the whiskey knocking him sideways, but the thought of life without Lyric…

  He needed to talk to her. To explain—he wasn't exactly sure what he wanted to explain. That he needed her? That he didn't feel like he deserved her?

  That he loved her?

  He froze right in the middle of the path. He loved her?

  Yes. By the gods, he did love her, and he knew she felt something for him. He tried to gather his alcohol-soaked wits to figure everything out logically, but it wasn’t working because:

  She was an artist, and she lived in Florida, where she had her home, her studio, and her business. All her friends were there.

  And

  He lived in Atlantis, and was sworn to Poseidon, the rat bastard of a sea god. He couldn't leave without breaking that oath, and the sea god was not known for kindness to oath-breakers. Dare would be dead before he could get the words out.

  He could visit her…?

  He shook his head. No, after having her in his arms, he knew that mere visits would never be enough.

  Enough already with the agonizing. Was he a man or was he a sniveling idiot? He needed to see her. He needed to talk to her.

  But first, he needed some coffee.

  By the time Dare stopped at a different pub to pound down three cups of coffee and then made it to the palace, it was dusk. He heard singing coming from the throne room, and headed in that direction. Maybe Lyric would've come down for the songs. A wave of shame washed over him that he’d left her alone all night and day while he wallowed in self pity. Poseidon had just cause to refuse him Seranth, he finally admitted to himself. He’d taken his ship into dangerous waters and risked them all for nothing but profit, adventure, and greed.

  If he couldn't be a better person and a better captain, he didn't deserve any of them. Not Seranth, not Luna and her crew, and certainly not Lyric.

  Lyric, who was the light to his darkness. The beacon by which he’d steered his ship for the past several years, even though he hadn’t known it at the time. He loved her.

  He loved her.

  He turned the corner into the throne room, and then stopped and stared at the sight before him. The king and queen were sitting on cushions in the middle of the floor, surrounded by children of all ages. The parents—at least he assumed those were the parents—were arranged around the edges of the room. The queen seemed to be telling the children a story about a town called Bethlehem.

  Wait. He knew this story. Poseidon’s warriors at the time had brought back the amazing tale of the birth of the Christ child.

  "What's frankincense and myrrh, Your Majesty?" One of the
smaller children had asked the question, but Dare could see that many of the others wore the same look of incomprehension on their faces, and he enjoyed listening to Queen Riley explain the story of the three kings and their gifts.

  He couldn’t see a clear path to get through to the staircase to Lyric’s room, so he leaned back against a wall, drawn into the story. It was a story of hope and love, and ultimately of healing and forgiveness.

  His throat tightened and he swallowed hard.

  Love, hope, and forgiveness. As if drawn by a homing beacon, his gaze swept the room for a glimpse of the woman with whom he wanted to share all of this. Share his life.

  There she was, standing on the other side of the room, her eyes closed and a faint smile on her face as she listened to Riley’s story of the King of Kings. As soon as the story ended, in joy and grace, Dare made his way around the perimeter of the group with single-minded intent. He had to reach her. Nothing else mattered. He had to tell her—he had to explain.

  He needed to make her love him back—whether he deserved her yet or not, he would vow to spend a lifetime trying.

  11

  Della wriggled off the table and went for him.

  "Jim, darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It'll grow out again—you won't mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say `Merry Christmas!' Jim, and let's be happy. You don't know what a nice—what a beautiful, nice gift I've got for you."

  "You've cut off your hair?" asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor.

  "Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Don't you like me just as well, anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?"

  -- The Gift of the Magi, O. Henry (1917)

  Lyric smiled and chatted with the people near her after Riley’s story was done. When the singing began, she joined in, figuring out the lyrics to the Atlantean children’s songs as they went along. She loved to sing and wasn't going to let a little thing like not knowing the words stop her.