Making Midlife Mistakes: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel (Forty Is Fabulous Book 3)

by Heloise Hull

  “Thessaly? Can you hear me? It’s Ava. You have to stop singing!”

  When she didn’t respond, I started to panic. “Thessaly?” I took hold of her silken shoulders and shook her, but it was the jolt of warmth from my mother magic that woke her. She blinked and her eyes re-focused on me.

  “Ava? What are you doing here?”

  I spread an arm out. “You mean the ocean? I’m trying not to drown.”

  Thessaly took in the scene and latched onto me for support. For a second, I thought she was about to leap into my arms. She was shaking, her eyes spooked, and her fingers dug into my skin like fish hooks.

  “Hey, it’s okay. Let’s get you inside.”

  “I… don’t want…”

  “I won’t let you go. I promise,” I said soothingly. With one arm under her, we swam back to the shore and staggered up the cliffs.

  By the time we got back to the villa, we were both exhausted. “Do you want to go back to bed?” I asked, peeling her arms off of my neck. It was like untangling a squid, and she kept sucking back onto me.

  “Don’t leave me alone. Please.”

  I could feel the deep, cold fear radiating off of her. It flooded me like an empty cavern near the sea at high tide. “Okay,” I said slowly. “Would you like to come to the bakery with me? I’m about to start my shift.”

  Thessaly nodded.

  “Perfect. I’m going to grab some dry clothes and we’ll go into town.”

  Thessaly clutched at me, her eyes wide. I’d never seen her this way. “Don’t leave me,” she repeated.

  “I won’t, I promise. Come inside with me.”

  I changed into dry jeans and a shirt, buttoning it with still slightly-frozen fingers. Despite my half-hearted protests, Thessaly refused to take her eyes off of me or turn around to let me get dressed. The fear in her eyes reminded me of a trapped rabbit, bounding against the edges of its confines.

  “Let’s go into town,” I said. “You’ll feel better in the bakery.”

  I always did, and I was looking forward to getting lost in the dough and sweet sugar. Thessaly’s fear had completely unnerved me. Was she reverting to her old curse because I hadn’t properly fixed her, or had something done this to her? Just as importantly, would it happen again? I loved Thessaly, but if she couldn’t control her demon powers and accidentally killed someone, I doubted support for her in town would last.

  The light was already on when we arrived, and the bell rang over the door as we entered. “Buongiorno, Rosemary,” I called out. “I brought Thessaly again. Hope that’s okay!” I didn’t mention the demon thing. Not yet, not with Thessaly still reeling.

  “Come in and wash up, darlings,” Rosemary sang. She was humming softly and dancing around the kitchen.

  I gave Thessaly a comforting smile and went to get ready. She settled in at the counter, her knees pulled up under her robe, and watched as I sliced winter apples and juicy pears as thin as tissue paper, fanning them with the tips of my fingers over almond paste and sweetened pastry dough. The smell of sugar and butter suffused the air, and it was the only thing keeping me sane.

  Forget magic. This was my true calling in life.

  “Rosemary, when is the next pastry vote? I had a request from Mae at the cheese shop.”

  “Let me guess,” Rosemary interrupted. “She wants chocolate.”

  I paused in my art. “Uh, yes. How did you know?”

  Rosemary rolled her eyes and thudded her fingers into warm, proofed dough. “She’s addicted. Last time we had a chocolate offering, I found her passed out in my pantry, chocolate covering her entire face. She’d eaten all of it. I mean all of it. A little chocolate is fine. A drizzle here or there or diluted with other things, like inside my tiramisu, doesn’t make her go all maenad. Layers of unadulterated chocolate?” Rosemary shivered dramatically. “I cringe to imagine it.”

  “Oh.”

  “And don’t get me started on how hard it is to do chocolate properly. The tempering alone would make me enter a state of frenzy!”

  “Okay, okay. Just thought I’d pass it along. Although you may want to have a speech prepared for the next meeting.” At Rosemary’s look of confusion, I hastily added. “She might try to capture a few more votes. Balsamic might be involved. No idea where she would have gotten that idea from, but you know, it might happen.”

  With that cheerful business behind us, I focused on my task, letting myself fall into the rhythm of the morning. I tried to think of nothing and let the cheap therapy of kneading dough carry me away. Obviously, Thessaly’s teeth chattering ruined it a bit. And here I was sweating from the heat of the ovens.

  “How’re you feeling?” I asked.

  “Cold.”

  So we were back to one-word answers.

  “Was this the first time since I un-cursed you?” I asked quietly.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No.”

  “Okay then.”

  A knock startled me. I looked up to see Mak’s face, his hand pointing to the locked door. He mouthed, “Sorry,” and gestured again.

  As if the morning couldn’t get any more complicated! Trepidation filled my muscles like sand, making movement a Herculean task. I made my way to the door as gracefully as a wooden puppet and flipped the latch.

  Instantly, a swirl of rich honey scents wrapped around me. “I’m amazed you don’t have a hive of bees following you.”

  Mak laughed. “It’s been known to happen.”

  “Mak, I’m so sorry I haven’t had the chance to talk recently. My boys randomly came to visit and there was this thing at the Council and I’m sorry. I’m rambling. Do you have a minute to talk?”

  Mak gave me that descended-from-a-literal-sun-god smile that should have sent me swooning. “I’ll always have a minute for you. I just wanted to see if you had plans for the evening.”

  My face reddened, but it was due to guilt and regret. “Let’s just walk outside for a moment.” I untied my lemon print apron and folded it behind the counter, as Rosemary took over piping the sweetened whipped cream.

  I took a deep breath. “Let me start by saying sorry for ghosting you. I had no intention of doing that to such a nice guy.”

  Mak mimed a knife to the heart. “Ah, the nice guy line.”

  I bit my lip. “Yeah, I’m sorry. Also, I’m sorry I’m really bad at this.”

  “Ava, I don’t want to push something that isn’t there. I want a woman who is all in for me as I will be for her.”

  I watched him almost wistfully. Stupid heart. “God, you really are the whole package,” I said. “I hope this doesn’t make things awkward between us.”

  “Never fear. I shall always patronize Rosemary’s Bakery.”

  “You better,” I threatened lightly.

  We walked back inside and I slipped him an extra almond and apple tart dusted with cinnamon. He tried to refuse it because he was, of course, a gentleman, but my puppy dog eyes eventually made him give in.

  “Thanks, Ava,” he said. “I wish you all the happiness in the world.”

  Rosemary came up behind me and rested a hand on my shoulder. “How did it go, darling?”

  “Honestly, better than I expected.”

  The shop began to fill with warm voices and familiar faces. The smell and the steam escaping from the espresso machine could have doubled as a long couch in a beige office. Already, I could feel the stress melting off my body.

  Until Jo entered.

  There was something about that woman. I didn’t like her, and I also didn’t like that I had an instant dislike of her. It opened up uncomfortable questions. Including, did I dislike her because she was beautiful? Because of some internal bias about foxes and being sly? Or simply because she disliked me? These were questions I’d rather not probe. So I merely gritted my teeth as everyone parted ways for her.

  “Buongiorno, Jo. What would you like this morning? Our pizza selection is a savory pie with walnut arugula pes
to and a shower of lemon zest. The buffalo mozzarella is so fresh, the milk drips out of it with each bite.”

  There. See? I could be nice. I really sold that pizza.

  Jo looked me up and down. “No. I do not eat dairy products.”

  “On purpose?”

  Her lip curled. “Cappuccino, light foam.”

  I couldn’t help it. “You mean, with dairy?”

  Jo leaned across the counter. “I do not like you.”

  “That’s funny.”

  Jo’s eyes shot up. “Why?”

  “Because for someone who doesn’t like me, you’ve spent an awful lot of time around me. Every time I turn around, you’re there.”

  Jo causally flipped her thick, red hair over her shoulder, shaking out her mane. “It doesn’t matter what a mangy dog thinks.”

  “It seems to me that a fox is merely a wolf in a pretty coat.”

  “Perhaps, but at least I get the pretty coat.”

  My back itched and tingled. In a sinking ship, the warning signs would have been blaring. Code Red. Code Red. The curling green vines of Rosemary’s roses withered and blackened as my fingers clenched into my palms. Next went their petals, which bowed inwards, the rot racing from the center to the blackened edges.

  This restless energy yearned to escape and do damage. Literal damage. It was insistent and urgent, anger and desire rolled into one, impossible to ignore. The feeling welled up, pushing its way towards the surface. I realized I couldn’t hold it back much longer, and the panic trilled through me, adding to the pressure.

  In an instant, the rot exploded.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Screams erupted and hell broke free in the bakery. It then proceeded to dance a jig on the counter.

  My body was out of control, and I couldn’t pull back. The terracotta pot next to me shattered, sending fragments shooting like ballistics through the shop. Wood chairs splintered and the marble counter cracked.

  The supernaturals inside ducked and shifted with fantastic reflexes, but a piece slashed my arm in my frozen shock. So much for my warrior instincts.

  Everyone stared as a dribble of blood fell onto the white marble.

  Jo stood up from a crouch, shifting back into a woman. She didn’t have to say anything. The triumphant look in her eyes said it all.

  I ignored her the best I could, wringing my fingers out behind my back as pins and needles shredded my nerves. “I’m so sorry, Rosemary. I don’t know what happened. I can fix it. Let me try to fix it with my mother magic. I’ve got that under control.” I bit back the implicit “I think.” That wouldn’t have helped.

  “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” she said sweetly, but her eyes told me a different story. I scared her. Perhaps I had never stopped scaring her after she saw what I was capable of at the Arch.

  I couldn’t say I blamed her.

  “Why don’t you take a break and go rest at the villa?” she suggested, pressing a cloth to my arm and taking me out of sight of the customers. Thessaly’s mournful purple eyes gave nothing away as she hopped off the counter and followed silently next to me.

  “What do you think?” I trailed off.

  Thessaly just stared at me, those eyes boring into mine.

  “Right. I’m as big a mystery as you.”

  “I’m going back to Coronis’s home,” she finally said.

  I gave her a sidelong glance. “You know you can come back to your room at the villa.”

  “I know.”

  “Okay then,” I said when she wasn’t more forthcoming. “Thessaly, are you going to tell Coronis about this morning?”

  The siren paused. “I’ll consider it.”

  “You don’t want to worry her? Because there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Maybe the god-magic I performed is weak since I’m not really a goddess. Or maybe I did it wrong since I had no idea what I was doing at the time. Maybe it’s coming undone and we need to investigate. Maybe—”

  “I said I would consider it.”

  I held up my hands in surrender. “I’m just saying. You can rely on us.”

  “I know.”

  We said goodbye at the fountain, and Thessaly slipped through the doorway into Coronis’s apartment without a key.

  Back at the villa, I embraced Nonna’s fussing.

  “Yes, I do need sleep, but the god found me again.” I told her what really happened at the boys’ birthday party while Tiberius listened intently. “I’m so exhausted,” I admitted.

  “Of course you are, Mamma.”

  “Everything feels so big and unmanageable, and without sleep, I have less control over myself and my powers.”

  Honestly, it made me feel helpless. Thoth dying under the basilica? Well, what could I do about that? What could I do about anything? I didn’t even know what to do about myself. I was sailing in a wine-dark sea without any map to guide me.

  Tiberius and Nonna discussed a few spells as they flipped through another grimoire, this one decidedly less ancient looking. If the 1800s could be considered less-ancient. Next to the Emerald Tablets they were babies.

  “No,” Tiberius said in response to Nonna’s incessant jabs at one of the pages. “That’s a little serious.” He looked up at me, his nose wiggling his whiskers. “You’re not interested in potential brain damage, right? Even for the greater good?”

  “The greater good is my sleep?”

  “Yes.”

  I shook my hands back and forth. “Then no. A thousand times no.”

  They shrugged and went back to looking at the parchment. Finally, Nonna sat back and said, “Let’s cleanse the house again. A lot has happened since the last time. Mamma, go get some salt and sprinkle it in the corners. I’ll find the lemons, cloves, and cinnamon sticks. Then we’ll see what’s what. Buone.”

  Tiberius lit a few tapers, and we performed the ritual I now found calming, although the first time had been surreal. Especially since there had been a ghost shouting in my face and a talking chipmunk holding a glass of wine. Now I found them both adorably quirky.

  After the potion boiled, we spritzed the kitchen and all of the rooms, laying a heavy dose around my bed. Nonna hung something knotted and root-like over my head. “This cimaruta will protect you against malocchio curses,” she promised. It was made of silver with various talismans at each end, including an actual flaming heart, a crescent moon that glowed, and an orange blossom with an intoxicating fragrance.

  “It’s beautiful,” I breathed, sleep already yanking me under.

  “Grazie, Mamma. Hush now.” And she put me to bed with an impacchi caldi, or a warm compress. She brushed a kiss on my forehead and slipped out of the room.

  As I drifted off, I realized a truth about life, both mundane and magical. There’s a moment between wakefulness and true sleep when the boundaries get confused. If something wakes you during this time, it feels as if you were dreaming, even if it is scientifically impossible.

  Thessaly would call it a liminal space. Whatever it was, I dreaded it because this was where the god who made me found me. He thwarted Nonna’s cimaruta and cleansing spells, and he laughed at a warm compress and a kiss goodnight. Somehow, he’d found a loophole.

  Somehow, he found a space where I was powerless.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The god’s voice slid over me like sharp skates on fresh ice.

  Little wolf, little wolf. What should we explore next?

  The hair continued to prickle on the back of my neck, rising along my forearms in the most primal expression of fear.

  Let me unspool it for you. We’ll unravel your life as we have always done things. Together.

  This time, there was no haze or swirling mist. There was only blankness, which disoriented me completely.

  I found my tongue, my words snagging only a little in this new dreamscape. “You may have some grand memories of me, but I don’t know you at all. Nor do I care to. Whatever you meant to me before is dead, so the best thing for both of us now is for you to leave
me alone. I have powerful friends, and we’ll end this one way or another.”

  I stumbled as the god flipped the dream world, and I found myself seated on a white palfrey, wearing a matching white dress bright enough to blind a star.

  Near Paris

  January, 1428

  Blanche of Castile

  My palfrey whinnied, his mane and flesh the same brilliant white as my dress. These rebels, these pigs who thought they were lords. They would know it was I who scourged them.

  Once upon a time, I had threatened to hostage my own children to win a war. I would do whatever it took to secure France.

  “Dame Hersent,” my enemies called me. “Lady Wolf.” If they only knew how truthful their sobriquet was. Perhaps they felt the feral energy beating inside of me. They certainly feared it, as all men fear something they do not understand. A woman in battle? Better to think of her as a wolf than a woman.

  I had kept my son’s throne with my bare hands and grit until he came of age. Louis would have the world before him.

  At our lowest point, I had commanded my people and they had obeyed. My men had lined the dirt tracks from Paris to Châteaux Montlhéry. “Help me get to my son. Help us get to Paris.”

  Militias from every hamlet clanged their armor and rallied their horses to ensure my rebellious lords did not attempt to slay us in a muddied ditch. In return, I would lead them into battle myself. An avenging angel, their queen, an ancient, bloodied Amazon come to life. And all our enemies would cower in the face of the impossible: a woman with a sword and the face of death.

  As my palfrey stamped his hooves impatiently, I lifted my blade. “For France!”

  They roared back. “Vive le France!”

  “For Louis!”

  “Vive le roi!”

  The sound of their swords and their loyalty echoed across the frozen fields.

  We watched, the god and I, captured by some god magic I had no part of. We watched the battlefield as my memories took hold of the time when I was Blanche, the lifetime after Jeanne. Something had happened with the pirate queen. Something to make me know who I had been. A wolf.